Warm and Fuzzy
by International08
Summary: A writer, a detective, and her cat ring in the new year. A sequel to "Fluff." Yes, you should probably read that first. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

As it turns out, at four o'clock on Saturday afternoon, she does get called to a scene. He answers on the first ring.

"Kate?"

He's whispering and he sounds a little breathless and she wonders what he might be doing. Jealousy flares briefly in her gut before she remembers his words on Christmas Day. I don't want anyone else.

She trusts him.

She's trusted him with her life and her back-up piece. When Raglan had asked in that diner who Castle was, that had been her answer: He's someone I trust.

"Hey Castle, whatcha doing?"

No doubt now. Not in this man. Just curiosity, despite the fact that she should just get to the point.

"Laser tag," he says quietly. "Trying not to give away my position."

Ah, that explains it.

"So what's up? You two still coming over tonight?"

Just as she is about to answer, she hears movement and a mumbled "oh sh-" from Castle, followed by some beeping and a familiar groan.

"What happened?"

He laughs over the line.

"The boy shot me."

"Drew?"

"One and the same," he confirms. "We were discussing Ender's Game and one thing led to another."

It turns out that "the boy," as they have come to call his daughter's new boyfriend, is a lot like Castle himself. Kate's been teasing him that girls are drawn to men like their own fathers. That thought horrified him until she reminded him of two things.

He makes her think of her dad, as she told him last weekend. And he himself is a good man.

She decides they don't really have time right now to get into why he's playing laser tag with Drew, not when there's a fresh homicide waiting for them. Or for her at any rate.

"We've got a body, you want in?"

"Yeah, I definitely want in," he says, his voice becoming more distant the longer he speaks. She assumes he's set the phone down so he can start taking off his laser tag gear. It's strangely intimate.

"So I'll pick you up in twenty?"

He lets out a soft grunt, and she pictures him reaching around to unstrap his vest. Heat flares in her belly.

"I can meet you there if it's easier."

She should agree and give him the address. Should, but won't. She needs to see him. As soon as possible.

"I'll pick you up," she says firmly.

"Okay," he replies, and his voice sounds like he's smiling. "I'll have coffee."

* * *

><p>She can see him as she pulls up to his building. He's leaning casually against the wall, a pair of travel mugs in his hands as he laughs at something the doorman is saying.<p>

She parks and honks to get his attention. He's smiling already, but when he turns to see her waiting there in the car, his whole face changes. He looked happy enough before, but now he's...radiant.

Is that what she does to him?

He opens the car door and slips inside before she really has a chance to examine that question.

"Good afternoon, Detective."

His voice is low and deep and meant just for her, though there's no one else in the car to hear his greeting. Their fingers brush when he hands off her coffee.

"Hey, Castle."

He buckles his seat belt, eyes darting up to meet hers, crinkling at the edges as he smiles at her. It fills her up, his smile - gives her light.

"So, what've we got on this New Year's Eve?"

She shrugs, noting with interest the way his eyes follow the up-down of her shoulders.

"Your guess is as good as mine. Dispatch just gave me an address."

As she pulls the car back into traffic, she glances back at him. He's still watching her.

"What, Castle?" she asks, her tone more terse than she meant for it to be.

His face drops a little and she curses herself. Even the simplest words have power, especially over him. Especially her words. She needs to remember that.

"Nothing," he says, a little too quickly. "I just... How have you been?"

She's focused on the road in front of them, ever-cautious while driving in the city, but she also watches him out of the corner of her eye.

"Fine, Castle. I've been doing fine."

Her mouth turns up slightly.

"Of course, you already know that, since we've talked or texted every day since Christmas. So what were you really going to say?"

She's put him on the spot. No letting him off the hook this time. They've both been guilty in the past of starting to say things that never get finished. Not anymore.

He nods in her peripheral vision, his voice soft and kind when he speaks.

"I was going to say that it's good to see you. You're a sight for sore eyes."

It's a bit ridiculous what his quiet sincerity does to her insides. She's a romantic at heart, and he sees that when so few others do.

Her hand darts away from the steering wheel to squeeze his forearm.

"It's good to see you too. Been strange not having my partner around this week."

He settles back into his seat. Not smiling per se, but looking a little smug all the same.

"I know, I know...you suffer without me."

She opens her mouth in retort, but he continues on.

"And I'm sure Ryan and Esposito will be glad to have me back and providing you with caffeine again. No doubt they've been on the receiving end of your wrath all week."

It's more true than he knows, both his former and his latter suppositions. But of course, she won't tell him how right he is. That's not how they operate.

"Now see, this is why I don't say nice things to you," she grumbles, turning to catch a shadow of his smile before he schools his features. "Because you always manage to twist it and use it against me."

He shrugs.

"What can I say? I am a master wordsmith."

She shakes her head and lets it go, turning her attention back to the traffic snarl she's currently navigating.

From time to time she glances over at him, alternately finding him staring out the window or playing with his phone. Once, though, he catches her eyes and graces her with a beaming grin.

"You know," she says lightly. "I've never met anyone so excited about murder."

He gives her a calculating look.

"You know it's not the murder that keeps me coming back."

Her heart rates jumps. Is this really the moment? All of the times she's wondered out loud why he sticks around and he's going to bare his soul now? In her car on the way to a crime scene?

"It's the mystery."

Oh. Apparently not. She's oddly disappointed. She turns back to the road. But he keeps talking.

"I come for the mystery. Even the ones I'll never solve. Maybe especially the ones I'll never solve."

She can feel his eyes on her, and the moment his meaning hits her, she knows he sees it, because he lets out a small puff of breath that he must have been holding and starts humming to himself, a jazzy little version of Auld Lang Syne.

That's one conversation she clearly remembers. The honesty in his gaze. The way he knew just what she needed to hear and how to make her laugh.

She'd still been with Josh at the time. And she was vulnerable because of Mike's murder. But Castle had been her dry land that week. And she's not completely sure she would have regretted what might have happened if she had reopened that door a moment sooner.

He's still humming the familiar tune, though he adds his own small flourishes here and there.

"You do like to add your own special flair, don't you?"

Her tone is teasing, and he stops humming, turns to look at her.

"Yes, I do. Though I'm not certain why you bring that up now."

She hums back the bit he'd just finished when she interrupted, and his eyes widen when he realizes what she's doing. She laughs at the look on his face.

"I never realized you were so musical."

He chuckles.

"What can I say, Detective? I am a man of many, ah, hidden talents. I'd be happy to demonstrate any number of them to you."

The way he's leering at her is nothing new, nor is his less-than-subtle innuendo. Used to be, she would have taken offense. Not anymore. It's just part of what makes him who he is. And she knows, after all, that he does respect her. He's never taken advantage, never pushed too far.

She just shakes her head as they pull up at the scene.

"Maybe some other time, Castle."

He gives her a playful smile over as they unbuckle and step out of her car.

She bumps his shoulder in thanks after he lifts the crime scene tape for her, and they approach the medical examiner, who's crouching over the body.

"Hey, Perlmutter, have a good Christmas?"

Castle, ever-cheerful, grins at the man. She wonders sometimes how he never lets the ME's surly nature get to him. She also wonders if Perlmutter will ever just surprise them all and be friendly in response to one of the author's greetings. Not likely.

And not this time. Perlmutter doesn't even deign to reply, just turns to her.

"Male. Hispanic. Around forty to forty-five. He's been dead for at least sixteen hours, Detective. Hard to tell because of the external temperature last night."

She nods, dropping to a crouch next to the body.

She can feel Castle leaning over her, the occasional warm puff of his breath washing across her cheek and ear. When did he start standing this close? And when did she start letting him get away with it? Not socially acceptable. But is she really going to tell him to move. Yeah, right.

"COD?" she asks, pulling herself back from her thoughts.

"Two GSWs to the chest, probably from a .38, judging by the size of the wounds."

Kate stands, a little too quickly, and bumps the author with her shoulder on the way up. He's solid, and she staggers.

He catches her elbow to steady her, earning himself a glare in the process. He doesn't seem to mind, just gives her a cheeky grin.

"Quit looming, Castle," she grumbles. "And stop with that grin too. Crime scene. A man's dead."

He schools his features until he looks properly chagrined and serious. But he can't stop the twinkle in his eyes, and frankly, she's not certain she wants him to lose it.

Once she's dealt with her shadow - her very large and good-smelling shadow - she turns to the nearest uniform, a young man who has just approached the scene, wallet in hand.

"Bradley, we got an ID?"

He hands over the wallet, flipped open to a driver's license.

"Yes, ma'am, we do. Agustin Ramirez. Forty-two years old. Lived in Jackson Heights."

She nods, turning the wallet so Castle can see too.

"Credit cards are still there. No cash." He taps on the plastic insert. "Pictures of his family?"

There's a woman, all dark eyes and tan skin, holding an adorable little girl who looks to be no more than three years old.

Kate flips the picture. Cramped but neat writing on the back identifies the subjects as "Elena y Luz."

She thanks Bradley who shakes his head when asked if there's anything else.

The detective and the writer flip through the rest of the pictures. They're mostly more of the same - the little girl a bit younger, and the woman as well. It has to be the man's family.

Kate lets out a sigh, and isn't surprised to feel Castle's fingers brushing briefly against the backs of her own.

"Not a great way to start the new year," he says quietly, and she nods. "Should we go talk to them?"

He's standing too close and not close enough. It would be so easy just to lean into him. To let him wrap his arms around her and delay this moment for a bit, the moment when she has the horrible duty of shattering someone's world.

But she's working, and he's not her husband, or even her boyfriend. She has no right to that comfort.

So she takes a deep breath and steps away. Just in time too, because at that moment, Esposito and Ryan appear at the mouth of the alleyway.

"Yo, Beckett," Esposito calls out as they approach. "Hey Castle, welcome back, man."

She watches in amusement and barely concealed affection as Castle bumps fists first with Esposito and then with Ryan.

"Where have you two been?" she asks. "Are you just now getting here?"

Esposito gives her what almost qualifies as a smirk.

"Nope. Been here for forty-five minutes already. Don't know why it took you two so long to get here."

She ignores the implication in his words as well as the mischievous twinkle in Ryan's eyes and gestures for her teammates to get on with it.

"Anyway, we've had enough time to talk to Perlmutter and get going on the canvass," Esposito continues. "Ran into Bradley just now, he said they found an ID?"

She passes him the wallet.

"Agustin Ramirez, forty-two, from Jackson Heights. Haven't run him yet, but from the pictures, I'm guessing those are his wife and daughter."

Ryan is peering into the wallet as she speaks.

"Cash is gone. Robbery, you think?"

Castle answers before she has the chance.

"He was still wearing his wedding ring, and it had a nice diamond in it."

Kate nods, glad he was apparently paying better attention than she was. Of course, he didn't have someone breathing down his neck.

"So maybe someone trying to make it look like a robbery. Did you guys find anything on the canvass?"

Esposito shakes his head.

"Not much, but with the ID, maybe we'll get further. Shop owner around the corner did say there was a kid hanging around for a couple hours last night. One he hadn't seen before. Said he seemed jumpy and was looking over his shoulder a lot."

That's a start at least.

"Description?"

The Latin detective shrugs.

"Not very specific. Hispanic, young, maybe late teens or early twenties. Thin, around five-six. Dark pants and a gray hoodie."

Kate reaches for the wallet still in Ryan's hands, taking it and then making a note if the address on the license. She hands it back.

"Castle and I will go talk to the family. You guys show this around, see if anyone recognizes him. And call if you get anything?"

Simultaneous affirmations of "You got it, boss" and "On it" answer her before the boys disappear to the street and she turns back to Castle.

"Looks like we're headed to Queens."

He follows her back to the car, and when she looks back at him, his hands are in his pockets, the light gone from his eyes.

"This is the part I hate," he says softly as they buckle in.

She half-smiles sympathetically.

"Me too. But it's part of the job."

He nods, and his hand moves toward her but then stops halfway across the console. Part of her, perhaps a larger part than she'd like to admit, wishes he would complete the action, wrap his warm hand around hers on this cold day.

But of course, he's coloring within the lines that she drew, staying on the other side of the wall that she built.

"You're good at it though," he says, his voice quiet. "You know what to say. I wouldn't even know where to start. This is one place I can't help you."

For him to say such a thing, for the writer to confess not having the right words - it tugs at her, makes her ache in a way she doesn't completely grasp. But she's glad too, and that's reason enough for her to close the distance between them and quickly squeeze his hand before starting the car.

"I know what to say because I've been there," she tells him, turning her head to meet his eyes. "I'd rather you not have the right words in this situation, because it means you haven't been on that side of them."

He nods his understanding, gratitude in his eyes, and she just allows herself to look at him for a moment. For all that he writes about murder and gruesomeness, she knows that his books are more about the story, the study in human character, and yes, the justice.

Blood for the sake of blood doesn't appeal to him, and she's seen more than once how their cases have affected him. He may try to seem callous and tough to others, but he's shown her his soft side.

She knows the patient and kind man he is with his daughter, the affectionate man he was last weekend with her kitten, the compassionate man he is with her. That's the one she loves.

"Let's go," she says, breaking their eye contact to pull into traffic. "The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can break the case."

The light is back in his eyes when she glances at him.

"And the sooner I get to curl up with my favorite green-eyed lady and bring in the new year," he says with a wink.

She shakes her head, chuckling.

"I assume you're talking about Minerva?"

He just smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

She knew, from the moment they'd looked at the photos in the wallet, that this would be a tough one. And now, standing poised to knock on an apartment door, her partner at her back, Kate's wishing she hadn't given in to Karpowski's trade.

She'd have gotten the earlier call if she'd been on duty and not just on call - a pop and drop of a known thug. Might have been hard to find the killer, she might've had to break the news to the kid's parents. But she wouldn't have had to tell a wife or a daughter that Daddy won't be coming home.

Castle's hand on the small of her back nudges her forward. She glances up at him, and he cocks his head. She knocks.

They're met immediately with the sound of shrill barking and quick footsteps.

The woman from the photo answers the door, a bright smile on her face until she sees her visitors.

"Can I help you?"

Her accent is present, but doesn't hinder understanding. It's not Puerto Rican, or Mexican, as far as Kate can tell. Maybe something further south.

"Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD, and this is my partner, Richard Castle," she says, pulling her jacket back to reveal the shield on her hip. "Is this the residence of Agustin Ramirez?"

The woman looks surprised, but nods.

"This is his home, yes. I'm his wife, Elena. Is he okay?"

Here is the moment. And Kate can't do it. Her eyes find Castle's, warm and compassionate, and his mouth tightens. She looks back at Elena.

Color is rapidly disappearing from the woman's face, and when she stumbles back a step, Kate's a little afraid she might faint. Castle seems to have the same idea, because he reaches forward with a steadying hand. But she catches herself on the doorframe.

"What happened?" she asks, her hand rising to cross herself in what the detective suspects is an unconscious gesture. "Dios mío, please...what happened to my Agustin?"

The barking starts up again before Kate can answer, and Elena turns away, leaving them standing at the door. Castle's hand presses against the small of her back and she takes the cue, entering the apartment and allowing her partner to shut the door behind them.

"Mrs. Ramirez?" she calls out.

After a moment the woman reemerges, a tiny girl held in her arms and a small dog yapping at her heels. The child is rubbing her eyes, maybe newly awakened by the knock or the barking. She must have been taking a nap.

The pair sit on the faded couch and the little girl immediately squirms outs of her mother's grasp to slide to the floor with the dog.

Kate takes a seat on the other end from Elena, and nods her assent to her partner's silent question. She watches as the writer drops unceremoniously to the floor, reaching over to ruffle the dog's ears.

"What's your name?" he asks in that soft tone she hears so rarely.

The little girl turns to her mother who runs a finger across the little cheek, a sad smile on her face.

"Está bien, mi corazón. Díselo."

Castle continues to pet the dog, smoothing the black fur and earning himself a few slobbery licks in the process.

"Luz," a small voice says.

Castle nods, meeting the girl's eyes.

"Nice to meet you, Luz. My name is Rick and that's Kate."

The girl nods solemnly and soon her tiny hand joins Castle's in rubbing the dog's belly. His voice remains gentle and friendly when he speaks again.

"What's your puppy's name?"

"Dante," she says, and black ears perk up a bit.

Kate turns back to Elena, though she remains wholly aware of Castle on the floor next to her, talking quietly with the little girl and keeping her focus on him.

"Mrs. Ramirez, we found Agustin this afternoon," Kate begins, keeping her own voice low enough to not draw the girl's attention. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but your husband is dead."

A gasp and a hand over her mouth are the woman's only reaction. Luz looks up at her mother, but Castle quickly brings her back when he pulls a knotted rope from underneath the coffee table and begins a game of tug-o'-war with the dog.

Kate gives the woman a moment to compose herself and allows her hand to lightly brush across Castle's nearest shoulder, a silent gesture of gratitude to her partner for making this as easier by keeping the little girl distracted.

When Elena seems a little more together, Kate leans forward slightly.

"Mrs. Ramirez, can you think of anyone who would have wanted to hurt your husband?"

It's a question she always asks, and so often people tell her no, that everyone liked their loved one. It's simply not true. Everyone is disliked, maybe even hated, by someone. But most don't see that, blinded by love and grief. So the answer surprises the detective.

"Yes."

She senses Castle's attention shifting, though he makes no obvious movement, just keeps up his interaction with Luz and Dante. It's subtle, maybe just a twitch of his eyebrows, but she notices. She finds herself inordinately pleased at how well she knows her partner's tells.

"Agustin and I came to the United States ten years ago, Detective," Elena says, bringing Kate's focus back to the woman in front of her. "We both grew up in Colombia, and my husband was a member of FARC when he was a young man."

The woman looks down at her hands, and Kate just waits until the story continues.

"My family lived on the edge of a small town outside of Cartagena. One morning I was going with my brother to visit a friend in the next town over. We found Agustin unconscious in a ditch on the side of the road. He'd gotten separated from the rest of his squad in the dark and had tripped and hit his head."

She takes a deep breath, and the detective leans forward.

"My brother said to leave him there. But I had just read the story of the Good Samaritan. You know it?"

Kate casts back into a hazy memory of sitting in Mass with her parents as a little girl. It's been years since she stepped foot inside a church for any reason other than a case, but she still remembers this particular story. She nods her response.

"So I couldn't leave him there to die. My brother helped me hide him, and I took care of him. My father would have killed him if he'd known. My mother had been kidnapped and murdered by members of the guerilla forces. When he was well enough, I thought Agustin would go back to his squad. But he didn't."

Kate glances down to see her partner listening with rapt attention. Luz and the puppy have crashed and are both sound asleep, the dog in Castle's lap and the girl with her head pillowed on his calf and a tiny hand woven into the puppy's silky fur.

"He fell in love with the girl who cared for him when no one else did."

Castle's voice is sympathetic. It's not his usual storytelling tone, the one he uses when they're theorizing. This is closer to how he sounds when he talks his way through a new discovery about the detective's past.

Elena nods.

"I brought him food and talked to him. He had left school very young when his parents died and members of FARC took him in. So I brought my old school books and taught him everything I could. He was so smart. He'd just never had the opportunity to put his intelligence to use."

Elena looks down at her daughter, at the large, gentle hand resting on the girl's back. She brings her eyes back up, pausing at the detective's fidgeting left hand and then raising her gaze to Kate's face, a soft smile emerging. Kate feels like she's missing something, even moreso when Castle looks up at her with an upward turn of his own lips.

"Agustin sneaked out one night and came back into town the next day," the woman continues. "He'd borrowed my brother's old clothes and pretended that he had just arrived and was only there looking for work. My father hired him to help on the farm. Agustin had a natural talent for plants."

Just then the dog lets out a little snort and his back paws twitch, kicking the girl lightly. Luz rouses for a moment, lifting her head from Castle's leg and blinking sleepily. The writer shushes her quietly and runs his hand across her back until she drops down again.

"You have children?" Elena asks.

Castle nods.

"A daughter."

She gives him a slight smile.

"Your little girl, yes?"

He shrugs casually, but Kate sees the shadow that flits through his handsome features.

"Not so little anymore. About to head off to college."

He leans against the couch, his shoulder pressing against Kate's knee, and she's struck once again by how thankful she is to have him as her partner.

Something about him is inherently soothing, and she thinks that if he hadn't been here for this particular conversation, it would have gone much differently. His ability to put people at ease seems to be exactly what Mrs. Ramirez and her daughter needed. Kate's sure that there will be plenty of tears from both later, but for now, Elena is calm and talking, and that means she'll be able to help them.

"How did you end up in New York?" Castle asks, restarting the previous conversation.

The woman lifts her hand, palm up, a meaningless gesture that betrays the feeling of helplessness the detective knows she must be experiencing.

"When my father died, the farm was to be split among my brothers and me. They bought my share, and Agustin and I used the money, along with what he'd saved over the previous two years that he'd worked there, to come to the United States. Colombia was too dangerous. He got a job here, working at a florist, and worked his way up. Often, when there was a wedding or big event, he would work late, even spend the night in his office there. There's one today, so I didn't worry when he didn't come home last night."

The detective leans in.

"You said there were people who wanted to hurt him. Why?"

Elena sighs, glancing down at her still sleeping daughter.

"We always wanted to have children. But we weren't able. So, four years ago last week, we adopted Luz. She was our Christmas miracle, our light. But adoption is very expensive, you know?"

Kate nods. She remembers the case that first year with Castle, the kidnapped little girl, the mother whose greed and resentment of her husband caused her to lose everything.

"We were doing okay for awhile. We've always lived carefully, saved as much as possible. Agustin was making a good salary at his job and I was tutoring students in the neighborhood to make a little extra. But then, in 2008, when the stock market crashed, we lost a lot of money, as did so many others, and the florist lost much business as well."

She pauses, and the grim set of Castle's mouth tells the detective she's not the only one who knows where this story is going.

"Agustin began working odd jobs so we would be able to make all of our payments. He didn't tell me at the time, but one of the men he began working for was a former member of his FARC squad who had also come to New York."

All three look down as Luz stirs and smacks her lips before wrapping her arm tighter around Castle's leg. He strokes his thumb down her arm and she settles again.

"He still had ties to some Colombian drug lords and was a drug runner for them. Agustin became one of his contacts. He would deliver cocaine to local dealers through the flower shop."

Elena bites her lip, and Kate wonders whether she's holding in a sob or a string of curse words. Either way, the woman clearly needs a moment to regroup.

"My husband was a good man, Detective," she finally says, her eyes clear and steely. "He tried to take care of his family. And when he found out that some of the dealers were targeting kids, he tried to get out."

"What happened?" the detective asks.

The woman shrugs.

"He was threatened. All of us were threatened. They told him if he tried to leave, they would kill his family. So he stayed. But he was gathering evidence. He was going to go to the police with what he knew. He would have put a stop to the whole operation."

And now they have the story. Castle turns his head to look up at her, sorrow and determination mixed in the blue of his eyes.

"Do you know the name of the man he was working for, Elena?" Kate asks quietly, pulling out the notepad from her jacket pocket.

Mrs. Ramirez nods.

"Agustin seemed troubled a few months ago and I finally confronted him to find out what was going on. He did not tell me more than what I've told you already about the operation, but he did mention the man's name once. It was Restrepo. Diego Restrepo."

The detective nudges her partner with her knee, and he takes the signal for what it is. Time to wrap things up. He lifts the puppy from his lap, setting it down on the floor. Then he runs his fingers across the little girl's back, scratching lightly until her hold on his leg loosens and she brings her hand up to rub at her eyes as they blink open.

Kate stands, reaching out to clasp the other woman's hand.

"Thank you, Elena. And once again, I am so sorry for you loss."

She tightens her grip a little as she watches Castle lift the little girl, depositing her carefully on the couch before standing himself.

"If you think of anything else, or you need anything, please don't hesitate to call," the detective continues, releasing the woman's hand to reach into her pocket for a business card. "We will do our best to find the person responsible."

She hands over the card and waits while Castle offers his own condolences, softly-spoken words and a two-handed grasp.

Mrs. Ramirez follows them, expressing her gratitude and shutting the door behind them when they leave.

"I wonder how they'll make it now," Castle says quietly as they wait for the elevator.

Kate shrugs.

"I don't know. Friends and neighbors may help them. Their church. Who knows?"

He shakes his head.

"It's so senseless. I mean, they'd gotten out, come to the land of opportunity, only to fall victim to the same problems he might have faced back in Colombia. If not worse."

The detective nods her agreement, cynicism bubbling up within her.

"Welcome to the American Dream."

The elevators open and the two of them step in, gravitating toward the back and each other, as they nearly always do. She glances up at him. He looks almost forlorn, grieved at the fate of this seemingly good woman and her sweet daughter.

Kate elbows him gently in the side, draws his eyes to hers. Looks like it's her turn to cheer him up. She won't waste the chance.

"By the way," she starts, noting the immediate questioning quirk of his eyebrow. "Kittens, puppies, small children...they all fall asleep on you. What kind of cologne do you wear, Castle? Eau de chloroform?"

His half-smile and the renewed twinkle in his eyes tells her she's accomplished her goal.

"Don't forget certain detectives. One in particular has been known to use me as a pillow. You, if I'm not mistaken."

She feels a blush rising in her chest. She has used him as a pillow, and the last time no drugs were involved.

"Who's next then?" she teases. "Esposito? Or Ryan?"

He shrugs, extending his hand to usher her out first as the elevator door opens.

"Hmm," he muses. "Probably Esposito. I've always thought he looked like a cuddler."


	3. Chapter 3

It's pushing seven o'clock by the time they get back to the station to reconvene with the boys.

Ryan and Esposito have been back for half an hour or so. They found out that yes, Agustin Ramirez worked at the florist two blocks down from the alley where his body was found. The night manager of a small diner said he stopped by from time to time to grab a bite, usually on nights he was working late at the shop.

"And get this," Esposito says. "We talked to his boss. Apparently Ramirez took the subway home every night. Used to have a car but sold it a few months ago. So he had a regular routine."

Kate adds that to the nearly blank murder board.

"Was he working late last night?" she asks. "His wife said there was a wedding or some big event today and he had to finish the arrangements for it."

Both detectives shake their heads.

"No," Ryan pipes up. "The boss said they finished the arrangements the day before and Ramirez left on Friday at his usual time, around six. Coworkers confirmed."

Kate leans back against the desk in front of the board, tapping a dry erase marker against her chin.

"So how did he end up in that alley four hours later to be shot to death?"

Castle settles next to her. Far enough not to cause any questions or raised eyebrows from any of the detectives, but close enough that she can smell his cologne (definitely not chloroform) and feel the warmth he always seems to radiate.

"Anything else on the kid that was hanging around?"

Esposito shakes his head at the writer.

"Nothing. A few other people remembered seeing him, said he seemed fidgety, but no other description. We ran the name you texted us, but nothing came up for a Diego Restrepo."

"The kid would have been too young anyway," Kate points out, "if Restrepo was one of the FARC members that Ramirez knew ten plus years ago."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Castle tilt his head in thought.

"Crazy theory, Mr. Castle?" she jabs.

He shrugs.

"Maybe nothing. But why would Ramirez tell his wife he would be working late when he clearly knew he wouldn't?"

She leans forward, tapping the marker against her chin once more and then extending it in a sweeping gesture.

"Could be any number of reasons," she offers. "Maybe he was meeting with this Restrepo and didn't want his wife to worry. Or maybe he was going to go to the police last night."

"Maybe he wasn't really involved with drugs at all and there's something else going on here," Castle says.

All three detectives turn to look at him.

"What gives you that idea?" Esposito asks, cocking an eyebrow. "You think the wife is lying?"

Castle shakes his head and stands, paces in front of the board.

"Intentionally? No. I think she was just repeating what her husband told her. But who's to say he told her the truth?"

Kate gets to her feet then, blocking the writer's path, and he pulls up short in front of her. His eyebrows are furrowed, his body tense. For whatever reason - she suspects it has something to do with a certain sleepy four-year-old - this case is getting to him.

"What are you thinking, Castle?"

His shoulders lift for a moment as he takes a breath.

"If it were my family, and they were being threatened, I wouldn't keep on working in a dangerous situation like that. I'd do whatever it took to get us the hell outta Dodge. Sooner, rather than later."

She realizes, suddenly, just how close they are to each other. Close enough to feel the warm wash of his breath on her cheek when he exhales. Close enough that she can see Ryan and Esposito standing behind him, both trying to conceal their smirks. Too close, in other words. She steps back, and leans against the desk once more.

"So, what is it then? If he wasn't selling drugs, what was he doing? Clearly he must have been up to something that got him killed."

He lifts a hand, scrubbing it over his face. Frustration is written in every line of his expression and they've only had this case for a few hours.

"I don't know."

He plants himself next to the detective, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs to stare at the too empty whiteboard.

He'd been quieter than usual on their way back to the precinct, and his melancholy doesn't seem to have abated. She leans forward and nudges his shoulder with hers.

"Hey, I don't know about you, but I'm getting hungry," she says quietly when he turns to look at her. "You wanna go get us some dinner, clear your head for a bit?"

He nods.

"Yeah. Yeah, maybe that would be good. What do you feel like?"

Honestly, she feels like grabbing a pizza and heading to her place or his, curling up on the couch with him and her kitten and watching a sappy movie. But they've got a case to solve, so unfortunately, that will have to wait.

"Anything's fine with me," she answers.

Esposito and Ryan echo her response and he stands.

"I'll be back soon," he says softly.

She nods, seeing the boys do the same.

"We'll be here. And we'll see what we can dig up on his financials while you're gone. Maybe we'll have something better to go on by the time you get back."

One corner of his mouth twitches up. Not quite a smile, but she'll take what she can get. He grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and pulls it on, heading toward the elevator.

Her eyes follow him the whole way, and when he steps inside and turns around, he catches her watching him. He does smile this time, and it's the last thing she sees before the doors slide shut on him.

* * *

><p>He's not gone long. Just enough time for them to get the guy's financials and a call from Perlmutter telling them that yes, he was killed by two shots from a .38 and yes, time of death is around ten o'clock Friday night.<p>

She looks up when she hears the elevator doors open. The slight flutter in her chest catches her by surprise, but she has to admit, she is glad to see him, especially looking better than he did when he left.

Jerking her head at Ryan and Esposito, she indicates that they'll eat in the breakroom. When they enter, she can't quite place the smell of the food that her partner is laying out on the table, and the bags are nondescript.

Esposito, though, doesn't have the same problem.

"Dude, is that what I think it is?"

Castle chuckles.

"Stopped by that place you're always wanting us to try," he says with a smile for the Latino detective. "I didn't know what was good though, so I just ordered a bunch of different dishes."

Esposito shakes his head.

"Everything is good there, bro. Seriously, you pretty much can't go wrong."

He proceeds to help Castle open the rest of the containers and settles down in the seat next to Ryan and across from Castle, leaving the spot next to the writer open.

Kate sits, looking over the choices in front of her.

"Looks like I'm gonna need a recommendation here, Javi."

Esposito grins and points to the container in front of Castle.

"It won't be as good as my abuela's, but you'll probably like the arroz con pollo."

She snags the dish, watching as Castle digs in to some kind of chicken stew next to her.

"Mm, Beckett," he says with a full mouth. "You gotta try this."

She nods, taking a few bites of her own chicken and rice dish. Esposito was right. This is good.

Before long, the writer reaches over and pulls the container away from her. She starts to protest, but he pushes his own under her fork in its place.

"Trust me," he says.

And she does. He knows her well, and that includes her taste in food, so if he thinks she'll like something, she probably will.

"What's in this?" she asks after sampling a bit. "It's delicious."

Esposito leans over to see what she's got.

"Ah," he says. "One of my favorites. Fricasé de pollo. It's got potatoes, peppers and onion, capers, raisins, wine, and this sour orange juice."

She nods and keeps eating.

"It's good."

The room goes silent for a few minutes, but for the sound of chewing and the shuffling of take-out containers. Castle keeps pushing things in front of her to try until she finally glares at him and he stops, a little boy pout on his face.

"Did you guys find anything while I was gone?" he asks, once he seems to have had his fill and is leaning back in his seat.

She shakes her head.

"We were just about to start going through his phone and financial records," she answers. "Perlmutter called and confirmed TOD and that he was shot with a .38. That's it though."

Ryan pushes his chair away from the table.

"Do you really think it wasn't drugs?"

Castle shrugs.

"Colombian drug lords? It's just too...cliché, you know?"

Here comes the story. Castle hates it when things are too neat, even though she herself wouldn't mind wrapping this one up quickly. Still, more important to catch the right person.

"I mean, they come here, get out of a bad situation, seem to have their lives on track, even adopt a little girl, and then he pulls them into the mess like that? I don't buy it if it were me, I'd stay away from something like that at all costs. There are always other options."

Esposito shakes his head.

"I don't know, man. You've been with us on enough cases to see that life can be hard for an immigrant. Things may work differently, but it's easy to fall into the same patterns, to turn to the familiar faces when you get into trouble."

Kate stands and begins clearing the table, packing up the food, and squirreling it away into the breakroom fridge.

"Maybe Castle's right," she says, ignoring the bright eyes he turns on her. "We need to follow up on Restrepo, see if we can find anything, but let's not rule out other possibilities."

She heads back into the bullpen, expecting him to be right behind her, as always. But when she turns to continue their theorizing, he's not there.

"Castle?"

His voice echoes from the breakroom.

"Be right there."

He emerges a moment later, a pair of coffees in hand.

She gives him a grateful smile as she sits at her desk, papers and file folders strewn across the top. He sets down their coffees at the corner and pulls his chair closer until they're sitting side by side and facing the same direction.

It's not the norm, but she's not going to tell him to back off. His elbow brushes her arm when he leans over to grab a file, and a warmth not from the coffee infuses her skin.

"Thank you," he says quietly, surprising her.

She turns a questioning gaze on him, and he shrugs.

"For giving me a chance."

She knows what he means - for giving his theories a chance on this case, for not dismissing them out of hand. But there's another layer there too, and whether or not he realizes it yet, she hopes he knows that she's trying to give him a chance in other areas of her life too.

"No thanks needed, Castle," she says, bumping his shoulder with her own. "You've stuck around this long. You deserve it."

His eyes soften, and she thinks maybe he does grasp the hidden layer. And why wouldn't he? He's a master of subtext.

The two of them silently drink their coffee and peruse the victim's financial records for a few minutes. She's finding nothing out of the ordinary, not even anything that would indicate the truthfulness of the wife's story.

"Beckett?" Ryan calls out, startling her from her concentration. "Found something."

She pushes back from the desk and strides over to where Ryan and Esposito have been going over the phone records. Castle follows, stopping right behind her, his solid chest at her back. He's tanding too close again, and she has to push down the simultaneous feelings of claustrophobia and absolute rightness.

"Whatcha got?"

Ryan points to one of the numbers on the sheet.

"This one. Belongs to a Restrepo. But not Diego."

She's not sure what his tone of voice implies.

"Then what's the name?"

Ryan's blue eyes meet hers as he looks up.

"Claudia. Claudia Restrepo."

"So, is she a drug lord?" Castle asks and then cuts his twinkling eyes toward Kate. "Or would that be drug lady?"

Ryan shakes his head, a hint of a smile playing at his boyish face.

"Or maybe they were having an affair?" Esposito postulates.

Kate watches as Ryan pulls up the woman's information on his computer screen.

"Oh. Maybe not."

The woman looks to be in her late sixties. There's an elegance about her, a sense of faded beauty. And there's something familiar too, Kate thinks, though she can't quite figure out what it is.

"Claudia Restrepo," Ryan reads off. "Age 68, lives in Astoria. No priors. She is from Colombia, but her records indicate she's been here for nearly thirty years."

Castle steps back, and Kate allows herself to let out the breath she's been holding. She has a hard time thinking when he's that close.

"She looks familiar," he says. "Does she look familiar to you, Beckett?"

The detective in question nods, glancing over her shoulder at him.

"Yes, though I'm not sure why."

Ryan prints the woman's picture and vitals and adds them to the board under 'Persons of Interest.' The only other person in that category is their mysterious young man in the hoodie.

Castle goes after the young detective, leaning against the desk and studying the new face in the picture.

"Do you still have the wallet?" he asks suddenly.

Ryan nods, and Esposito pulls it from a bag on his desk. Kate takes it from him, carrying it over to Castle and settling into the empty space next to him.

"What is it?" she asks, watching his hands as he opens the wallet.

The writer shakes his head.

"I'm not sure, but..."

He trails off as he stops flipping through the pictures in the wallet. He holds it out in front of him for moment and then passes it to her.

"Look."

She does, and though it takes her a moment, she too sees what he sees.

"Same eyes, same mouth and nose. Even the same ears. They're related."

He reclaims the wallet, pulling out the photo he was examining.

"Aunt, you think?" he asks as he studies the picture of Elena smiling into the camera and then brings his eyes back to Claudia on the board.

She shrugs.

"Could be. Or it could be that the FARC didn't kill Elena's mother after all."

The writer turns to her, blue eyes sparking with interest. She never tires of seeing that look on his face.

"Now wouldn't that be a story?"


	4. Chapter 4

Castle wants to contact Elena right then and there, but Kate makes him wait, reminds him that they know nothing for sure, that they only have suppositions and conjecture, and that, for all they do know, this Claudia could have been involved in Agustin's murder.

That slows him down. The four of them work another hour more, searching through records for any mention of Agustin Ramirez or Claudia Restrepo.

Castle's refilled their coffee cups (all of them - earning grateful nods from Ryan and Esposito and an almost smile from Kate), and has retreated to his chair, back in its usual spot at the side of the desk.

They've found nothing more, and a call to Claudia Restrepo's number on the vic's phone records went unanswered, the tone and automated message informing them that the number had been disconnected.

'We'll head over there in the morning," Kate says to her partner, drawing his attention from his phone. "Or I will, at any rate. You don't have to go with me if you've got something else to do."

He gives her an incredulous look.

"A mother thought murdered but possibly alive? I'm in."

She blanches a little at his phrasing and immediately sees his eyes widen. His hand shoots toward hers on the desk.

"Kate," he breathes.

She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment and inhaling deeply. When she opens them again, his fingers are hovering just short of hers, as if she might break if he actually touches her. His expression is concerned, repentant.

"I wish..." he begins in a whisper, but stops when she closes the distance and clutches his hand tightly. The grasp lasts less than a second, but it soothes them both.

The pain in his expression lingers for a little longer, but it's muted, back to what she always sees in his eyes where her mother is mentioned in everyday life. Her own sudden longing is quelled as well as she brings herself back to reality.

"Me too, Castle," she says, and returns his sad smile.

The moment is broken by loud shuffling from the direction of her other boys. Ryan and Esposito are both shifting papers around, but neither one is looking at her or Castle. Sometimes they really do make her feel like a schoolteacher with unruly students.

But it's the tension-breaker she needs. She's surprised to look at her father's watch and realize that it's past ten o'clock.

"Somewhere you'd rather be, gentlemen?" she asks, arching an eyebrow at the two when they turn to look at her.

Ryan coughs, but Esposito just shrugs.

"Do you really think we'll get any further tonight, Beckett?"

She shakes her head, and lets a teasing note enter her voice.

"A couple more hours and I'm sure we'd find something."

Even Castle looks worried now.

"Kidding, guys," she finally says after torturing them with her silence for a few seconds more. "You're right, Esposito, we're not going to get any further tonight. Go on home, or...wherever."

Ryan is out of there faster than she thought possible. Esposito grins.

"He's got a date night with Jenny, no wedding planning allowed," he supplies, then stands and collects his own things. "See you tomorrow."

He doesn't offer any indication of his own plans, and they don't ask. If he's going out with someone other than Lanie, Kate doesn't really want to know. She was serious when she said she didn't want to get stuck in the middle of their relationship arguments.

"Just give them time," Castle says.

She turns to look at him.

"Do you know something I don't?"

He shakes his head.

"No, but I do think they're meant for each other. And they're both going to Ryan's wedding. That tends to bring people together, so who knows?"

She smiles. He believes in magic and soulmates and fate and the universe, and it's refreshing when she sees what she sees everyday. She wonders sometimes if he just has an innate optimism, or if it's caused by something else.

She begins straightening her desk while Castle takes their almost empty mugs to the breakroom to rinse them out. By the time he returns, she's just shutting down her computer.

"I'll take you home?" she offers, wondering to herself why it sounds more like a question than a statement.

He lifts her coat from the back of her chair, holding it out as she slides her arms in the sleeves.

"Only if you're coming with me."

Surprised, she turns to stare at his rapidly reddening face.

"Uh, not what I meant. I just...you said you'd watch the ball drop with me, and I wanted to see Minnie too. We can go to your apartment if you'd like."

She lifts one eyebrow at him but he says nothing more.

"So now you're inviting yourself over?"

He lifts his hands in front of him, backpedaling quickly.

"If you're tired or something, it's okay. Don't worry about it."

She shakes her head.

"It's fine, Castle. I'm just teasing you. Glad the offer still stands, actually."

He smiles, genuine happiness shining in his eyes.

"Really?"

She nods, looking down to button up her jacket and double check that she has her keys and everything else she needs.

"My neighbor is having a party, so it'd actually be nice to be out of my place for the night."

He's still beaming at her as she links her arm through his elbow and lets him lead her to the elevator.

"Besides, didn't you say Alexis was going to a party with Drew tonight?"

Castle presses the down button and hums in confirmation as the door opens.

"So I can do the girl a favor and make sure you're not waiting up with a shotgun."

His deep chuckle vibrates into her, warming her heart.

"Just let me stop at my place to get Minnie and grab some stuff."

"You'll stay the night?" he asks, and she can hear the hope in his voice. "I mean, in the guest room, of course."

She rolls her eyes as the elevator door opens and the two of them head toward her car.

"Yes, if that's okay. It'd just be easier, and probably safer, with all the traffic tonight, not to mention the pedestrians that are bound to be roaming around at all hours.

He nods his assent, meeting her eyes over the top of the cruiser before as he opens the passenger door.

"Of course, that's fine. Then we can get going whenever you want to visit Claudia Restrepo in the morning. Easier all around."

The drive to her apartment is spent mostly in small talk. He tells her about the places he and Alexis visited in California. She fills him in on the cases they had while he was gone.

Really, it's nothing they haven't talked about already. The past week apart saw plenty of use for both of their cell phones. But it fills the silence in the car as she navigates the herds of taxicabs and crowds of revelers on the city streets.

"Come up?" she asks, when they pull into a spot in front of her building.

He nods and gets out of the car, following her up the steps and into the waiting elevator. The ride is brief, and before she knows it, she's unlocking the door to her home, Castle on her heels.

It's strange how this feels. It's not like he's never been here before. But this is the first time he's arrived with her, with her full knowledge and approval, the first time he hasn't just shown up on her doorstep.

She gets the door open and then he's crowding in behind her, away from the stream of people heading into her neighbor's apartment, laughing as a small gray streak barrels toward them.

Kate doesn't bother with taking off her coat, just heads to the bedroom to gather a few things, glancing behind her to see Castle with a handful of kitten. He's cradling Minnie like a baby, her little paws in the air, and rubbing her belly. The creature seems to be thoroughly enjoying his affections.

"I'll be right back," the detective calls out, smiling at his answer of "Take your time."

It doesn't take her long to find a pair of sweat pants and a long sleeve tee, fresh underwear, and clothes for tomorrow. She tosses them all into an overnight bag, along with a little travel container she keeps stocked with shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and the other few things she'll need for her morning routine.

When that part is done, she goes into her closet for the cat carrier she bought a couple weeks ago. It's good that he came up with her. She'll need his help to get her stubborn Miss Minerva into that thing.

The first time had been easy: she'd just opened the door and the cat had strolled on in. She'd closed it tight and taken the young kitten to the vet for her first round of shots. It was the next time that was a trial.

After Castle had departed last Saturday afternoon, she and Minnie had engaged in a battle for dominance. Kate is pretty sure she'd won, but not without gaining a few wounds in the process. One particular scratch on her arm still isn't completely healed. Her sweet kitten had turned into a holy terror.

She shakes her head at the memory and pulls the carrier from its spot on a shelf next to her ice skates.

She emerges back into the main part of her apartment to find Castle with his back to the bedroom door. He's laughing quietly, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little, and she can tell by the way his arms are arranged that he must still be holding Minnie.

Is this how he was with Alexis when she was a baby? All warmth and smiles and soft joy?

A baby and a kitten clearly aren't anywhere near the same. But still, she wonders. She likes this side of him. Heck, she likes nearly every side of him these days.

But this, this gentleness and affection and the way the size of his body both dwarfs and protects the tiny being in his arms...it might be her favorite side of him right now.

She hesitates to approach him, to shatter the bubble of happy peace that seems to surround him, but she can't help herself. She steps closer.

And then, as if he senses her presence (really, who is she kidding? He probably does), he turns around, and his face is so completely open, so filled with tenderness. It leaves her breathless and longing.

"Hey, there you are," he rumbles, heedless of the pounding of her traitorous heart. "She remembers me. And I think she's grown since last weekend. She seems bigger, at any rate."

He doesn't seem to require an answer, just continues to rub the tip of his middle finger up the kitten's nose and across her forehead as his index and ring fingers smooth her whiskers on either side. The little eyes are closed, and Minnie is purring, back legs wrapped around Castle's wrist.

"You ready to go?" he asks quietly, and she nods.

"Almost. Just gotta get her into the cat carrier."

She'd anticipated this being a two-person job, but with the way Castle has Minnie lulled into submission, maybe it'll be easier than she thought.

Slowly, she releases the door of the carrier, careful not to let it make a sound that would rouse the little animal. Once it's clear, she nods to him and he extends his arms, tucking Minnie in through the opening and setting her down on the blanket inside. He pulls his hands out quickly, and the detective shuts the door.

She lets out the breath she was holding in a sigh and he gives her a questioning look.

"Oh, nothing," she answers, though he hasn't actually said a word. "This was just a lot harder last weekend when I had to do it on my own."

He tilts his head, and she sets the carrier on the floor, pulling up her sleeve a bit when she straightens. The movement reveals an angry pink line, mostly healed now, and she holds out her arm to him.

"Ouch," he murmurs, his fingers twitching at his sides. "How did that happen?"

She laughs. It was frustrating at the time, and her cat's claws are really sharp, but looking back, it's sort of funny.

"Minnie and I had a battle royale when I tried to get her into the carrier to take her to my dad's cabin. This was her way of letting me know that she didn't want to go. Probably because the only other time I'd put her in the carrier was to take her to the vet for her checkup and shots."

He winces, and she's not sure if his sympathy is for her or for her cat.

"Well then," he says gallantly. "Glad to make this easier on both of you. Got everything you need?"

They're halfway to the door when she sets her bag down and turns around.

"Litter box," she calls over her shoulder as she heads toward the bathroom.

He laughs when she returns.

"It's like having a baby again...diaper bag, food, toys. Gotta make sure they have everything they need."

She stops in her tracks. She's forgotten both food and toys. Is it really worth it? Trekking all the way to Castle's apartment with all of Minnie's things? And for what? To watch the ball drop, to hang out for one evening?

He must see the hesitation on her face because he steps forward before she has a chance to tell him to just forget the whole thing.

"I've got this," he says, taking the box from her hands. "Just grab some food for her and whatever you think she'll want to play with tonight."

She smiles gratefully at him, and heads to the kitchen, wondering when this became such a big production, wondering why it makes her this nervous.

There's a half-empty bag of dry kitten food under the counter, and she grabs Minnie's bowl too, stuffing both into a reusable shopping bag. The bedroom is next, to retrieve a toy or two, and when she comes back to Castle in the entry, he's crouching down by the cat carrier, poking his fingers through the door and talking softly.

His voice is deep and smooth and it makes her wish he did audiobooks. Yeah, that'd be perfect. She could slide into a hot, bubbly bath with her wine and not have to worry about getting the pages wet. She could just let herself sink into the warmth and listen to his stories, his voice.

That image morphs into reclining in her bathtub while he sits propped against the edge, reading to her. And that picture leads to yet another fantasy, one that has her blushing when the actual man himself clears his throat and calls her name. He's standing and she didn't even see him get up.

"Ready?" he asks, making no mention of the pinkness she knows must be visible on her cheeks.

She nods, watching him pick up the carrier and balance the litter box while she opens the door, flips the light off and steps out after him, locking her apartment up for the night.

When she turns around, he's standing there, looking expectant, and it catches her off guard. She knows he sees the pause in her eyes when he cocks his head to one side.

"Did you forget something?"

She shakes her head, shaking off her own doubts at the same time, and smiles at him, lips pressed tightly together.

"No. Got everything I need right here. Let's go."


	5. Chapter 5

Minerva had started meowing as soon as they got in the car to head to Castle's loft. She's agitated, and Kate's not sure if it's simply because of being in the carrier or if it's the frequent stops and starts or something else entirely, but the kitten just won't settle down.

They'd set the carrier in the back seat to begin with, but for the first several minutes Castle was half out of his seat leaning back to check on her. The detective gave him the look that usually gets him to stop messing around. But it didn't work, and his eyes pleaded with her until she finally nodded her consent.

At that point, Castle had reached behind them and pulled the carrier into his lap, shushing the kitten softly. She still didn't quiet, though, so he undid the latch and scooped her into his arms, tucking Minnie beneath the lapel of his coat, into the warmth of his chest.

"You're okay, you're okay," she can hear him saying quietly now, over and over, his voice low and soothing as he holds the kitten tightly.

Kate glances at him, the genuine concern in his expression catching her off guard.

"She'll be fine, Castle," she says kindly while they're stopped at a light. "She's a little worked up is all."

He turns to look at her as she speaks, his eyes expressive even under the limited brightness of a street light.

"I know," he murmurs and her heart contracts at his tone. "She just sounded so upset."

But Minnie is calming down now, and Kate catches a wisp of a smile on her partner's face as she starts driving again. The next few minutes pass quickly, and almost before she realizes, they're pulling up in front of his building.

He deposits the kitten back into the carrier quickly, latching the gate before opening his car door and stepping out. Between the two of them, the detective and the writer gather everything up and make it into the building. Every hand is full and she's thankful for the doorman who greets them and presses the elevator button for them as well.

Minnie's crying again by the time they reach his floor, and she gives him an apologetic look. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea.

He shrugs, setting the carrying on the floor as he fishes out his keys.

"She'll be fine in a few minutes," he says. "We just need to get her situated."

And then he's ushering her in, his palm at the small of her back momentarily before he stoops to retrieve the carrier.

As soon as he shuts the door and turns on the lights, he drops to his knees.

"Make yourself at home," he calls over his shoulder as he opens the gate.

She sets down her burdens but then watches him. He doesn't reach in to pull Minnie out. He just waits in his spot on the floor, talking softly to her, coaxing her out to explore and play. And after a minute or so, she emerges, looking this way and that, getting her bearings in a new place.

"Hey pretty girl," he says in that tone that Kate has come to love. "How ya doin' there?"

He extends his hand, and the kitten sniffs it, then rubs her whiskery cheek against his knuckles.

The writer looks up and catches her in a smile. No point in hiding it then, is there? She gestures toward the food and litter box as she shrugs off her coat and toes off her shoes.

"Where should I put this stuff?"

He hangs her coat next to his and then unpacks the bag with the food and fills the bowl halfway, setting it on the floor in the kitchen.

"Do you have a water bowl for her? Or do I need to grab one?"

She knew she'd forgotten something.

"Oh, I left it at home. Sorry."

He dismisses her apology with a wave, stretching up to pull a small bowl from a cupboard and running a little water from the tap before setting it next to the food.

"We'll put the litter box in the bathroom, if that's okay."

She nods and reaches down to scoop up Minnie, following Castle and the box down the hallway.

"Aren't these things usually stinkier?" he asks, looking back at her over his shoulder.

She laughs.

"I cleaned it right before I headed to the scene this afternoon. It was plenty smelly then."

He grins and steps into the guest bathroom, crouching down to arrange the box on the floor. Kate leans over to set the kitten next to it, and of course, the little thing jumps right in.

"No shame, huh?" he chuckles and she shakes her head lightly in response.

It's when they both stand that she realizes just how small this bathroom is and just how large her partner is by comparison. They're much closer than she intended. Too close, if the sudden flush of his cheeks is anything to go by.

She's backed up against the door frame and he against the sink and this bathroom is too cramped for a millionaire's loft and how can there be absolutely nowhere to go?

There's a moment's awkward silence. She wants - no, needs - to touch him, to brush her fingers along his biceps, across his shoulders, up the back of his neck to his silky short hair. It would be so easy, so perfect. His eyes have darkened, she realizes, his pupils widening still further the longer they stand there.

And then it's not his eyes that she's studying but his lips. And oh, how she wants to just push up on her tiptoes and brace herself against his broad chest and press her mouth to his.

He clears his throat.

"Well, shall we see what Dick Clark is up to tonight?" he asks, his voice a little hoarse.

She nods, and he steps past her, his chest brushing hers, his breath wafting across her cheek, coffee and chocolate and him. Her eyes close as goes by, and when she opens them again, he's out of sight already.

"Wine?" he calls out, and she hears him puttering around in the kitchen.

It's a moment before she can rein in her breathing and follow.

"Sounds good," she says when she finds him again, arching an eyebrow as she watches him rip the plastic off a microwavable popcorn bag. "What, no top-of-the-line popcorn popper?"

He smirks.

"Oh, I've got one, Detective. I'll pull it out if you want."

She takes the bag from him and sticks it in the microwave.

"Kidding, Castle. This is fine. And easier when it's just the two of us."

While she waits for the microwave to ding, he pulls out a bottle of wine, expertly opening it and pouring them both generous glasses.

"Easy there," she cautions. "I've gotta work in the morning, and as I recall, you like to follow me around."

He chuckles and stops pouring.

"That I do."

Carefully, she pulls the popcorn bag from the microwave as he snags a pair of bowls from the cabinet.

She tips the bag, allowing them both healthy portions, and then watches in amusement as he pulls a tray from under the counter, doctoring his serving with butter, salt, and cheddar cheese flavoring. The last thing he does is drizzle caramel syrup over the top.

Really? He's going to eat that? She'd wanted desperately to kiss him a few minutes ago. Should have taken the chance when it presented itself, because she certainly isn't going to kiss him now.

"You want some?" he asks, holding out the bottle of caramel syrup in front of her face and wiggling it side to side.

She shakes her head. "I think I'm good."

Castle's got that twinkle again and he waggles his eyebrows at her, so it's really no surprise what comes out of his mouth next.

"Oh, I have no doubt that you're very good, Detective. But the question is, would you like some caramel sauce for your popcorn?"

She shouldn't, but playing his game (and beating him at it) is just so much fun sometimes.

"I think I'll let you save the caramel for _other_ things."

She catches the bottle as it slips out of his hand, setting it on the counter and floating off into the living room with her bowl of popcorn and glass of wine. When she glances back, he hasn't moved.

When he does join her a moment later, he says nothing, just picks up the remote and turns the large television on, flipping to the right channel and leaning back into the welcoming embrace of his couch.

She follows his lead and settles in beside him, their arms brushing.

"Glad you're here," he says quietly, and she glances up to find him with that soft, sincere smile stretching his mouth.

She bumps him with her shoulder.

"Me too, Castle. Thanks for the invitation."

He bobs his head.

"You're always welcome here, Kate. You and Minnie both."

It's funny how that addition makes her feel, how incredible it is to know that he'll make room in his world, not just for her but for the cat as well. Like he's willing to conform to her shape, to let her in and fit himself around her.

Of course, that thought brings to mind other images of how they might fit together, pictures in which it's just the two of them, no kitten to be found. She shivers.

"Cold?" he asks, but before she can answer, he's already reaching for the throw on the arm of the couch, draping it across their laps.

She hums her gratitude and then there's Minnie, leaping up. She's misjudged the distance and her little claws scrabble for purchase on the blanket, but Castle gets a hand around her and pulls her into his lap. She stands, circles a few times, and settles into the small space where the blanket dips between their thighs.

They chat through the commercials, sipping wine and munching on popcorn, the amiable conversation a good way to decompress.

When the commercials end and Dick Clark and Ryan Seacrest appear once more, she realizes that it's already closing in on 11:30. She may not have been working until she got the call at four o'clock this afternoon, but that doesn't mean she wasn't up early anyway, cleaning, doing laundry, taking care of all the things that don't get done when she's at the precinct.

She's tired, and warm, and comfortable here in Castle's home.

"Sleepy?"

There he is in her head again, and she wonders how he always seems to know these things about her. She nods, leaning forward to set her popcorn and her wineglass on the coffee table.

She debates leaning back into the couch, but she knows that would inevitably lead to leaning into Castle, and with the way her heart's been acting lately, that might not be the best idea.

So she turns to face him, scooting back on her rear, resting her head against the arm of the couch. Her legs are scrunched up, knees pointing into the air as she tries to avoid tucking her toes into the warmth under his thigh.

Minnie, disturbed by all the movement, stands up, meowing, and jumps down from her spot. Castle surprises the detective by grabbing her ankles and pulling her legs over his, rearranging the blanket to cover her feet.

She's about to move - and chastise him - when the kitten jumps back up, landing squarely on her legs and stretching across them. It can't possibly be comfortable, but Minnie doesn't seem to care. Well, she can't exactly move now, can she?

Kate looks from the kitten to the man. The man who currently has a smug smile playing across his features. She rolls her eyes.

"Don't think you can steal a kiss if I'm still asleep at midnight."

He laughs, mischief sparking in his eyes.

"Oh, don't worry," he promises. "I'd wake you up."

"To watch the ball drop?" she asks, and his mouth twitches.

He nods.

"Yeah, for that too."

He's pressing his luck, and she finds she honestly doesn't mind. Probably wouldn't mind if he stole a kiss either, though she honestly would prefer to be awake for that.

"As long as we're clear then," she says, closing her eyes.

He's got the volume down low, and it's peaceful here, all too easy to just let herself drift off, lulled by the warmth and the wine, and the easy company of the man whose thumb is stroking back and forth across her blanket and jean covered shin. She could get terribly used to this, couldn't she?

The thought startles her, and she opens her eyes suddenly, only to find Castle's deep blue staring back at her.

"Relax, Kate," he whispers. "Just rest for a bit."

Minnie decides to change spots, forsaking the detective's legs to climb up to her previously favored spot on Castle's shoulder.

Kate should move. Should sit up, or at least get her legs off the writer's lap. But his hand is warm against her ankle, and he just looks so content, and she can't bring herself to be the one to take that serenity away from him.

So she purses her lips and shakes her head at his smile and lets her eyes fall shut. There'll be time to examine boundaries later. Right now, she's happy where she is.


	6. Chapter 6

Instead of Castle's voice (or better yet, his lips) waking her in time for the countdown, it's the sound of the front door opening a few minutes before midnight.

"Just hold on, I'll get you some ice or something," she hears. What is Alexis doing home, who's with her, and why do they need ice?

She opens her eyes to find Castle asleep, head tilted against the back of the couch, mouth hanging open slightly. His hands are heavy on her legs and she has to nudge him with her knee to wake him.

He jolts, looking around blearily for a moment before his eyes find hers.

"Hey, did we miss the countdown?" he asks, his voice rough and so very sexy with sleep.

She pushes back the spark of need in her belly and shakes her head, turning to pull her legs from his lap.

"No, but I just heard Alexis come in."

He sits up at that.

"She's home? She was supposed to be at a party all evening. Is she okay?"

The detective shrugs and stands, extending a hand to help him up.

"I'm sure she's fine, Castle."

He gets to his feet, squeezing her fingers tightly for a second before releasing her. Minnie has wandered off, she notices.

Kate follows him to the kitchen where they find Alexis holding Minerva up for inspection while the boy - Drew, she remembers - leans on the bar, holding something wrapped in a dish towel up to his cheek.

"Pumpkin?" Castle calls, making the girl look up. "Everything okay?"

Alexis tucks Minnie into her arms and greets them both.

"Hey Dad, Detective Beckett," she says cheerily. "Everything is fine, just left the party early."

It's so obvious that she's not telling them the whole story that Kate has to forcibly keep herself from raising a dubious eyebrow. Castle has no such qualms.

"Really?" he questions, turning to Drew and laying a hand on the young man's shoulder. "You okay there, Drew? Has my daughter been abusing you again?"

The boy's face reddens, but he chuckles as Alexis comes around the counter to punch her father in the arm.

"Not exactly disproving my theory here, sweetheart," he says, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into his chest. "What happened?"

Kate sees the quick nod Drew gives Alexis, and it piques her curiosity even more.

"There was a guy, at the party," the redhead begins. "One of Ashley's old friends."

The detective already dislikes where this story is going.

"He was just being a jerk. Apparently Ashley took the breakup harder than I thought he would, even though he was the one who'd basically been ignoring me the whole time. And his friend decided to give me some grief over it, accused me of cheating on Ashley with Drew."

Castle's whole face darkens and Kate feels the wash of anger flow through her own veins.

"Drew, uh, defended my honor, I guess you could say," the girl says, her eyes flitting from her father to the boy in question, affection and no small amount of pride shining in her crystal depths.

"And then he punched me," Drew says dryly. "Thus the frozen peas."

Kate has remained silent through the whole exchange, but now she steps forward.

"Mind if I take a look?" she asks quietly.

The young man shakes his head, dropping the hand that holds the peas to the bar counter and revealing what already looks to be nasty bruise forming under his left eye.

She takes his chin in hand and turns his face to and fro, checking his eyes for signs of trauma or concussion and then prodding gently at his cheek. He winces a little, but makes no sound.

"Looks like nothing's broken, so you'll be fine," she tells him after a moment. "Just keep ice on it."

He nods.

"Thanks, Detective. I think I moved just at the right moment. He was aiming for my jaw."

Kate looks up at Castle to see his expression shifting from respect while he's listening to Drew to respect and affection when his eyes meet hers.

He claps the young man on the shoulder.

"Thank you, for watching out for my daughter."

Drew nods, his own eyes flicking toward Alexis. The care between them is evident, and Kate can tell that even if the relationship itself is new, he must have been carrying a torch for her for quite some time.

"Glad to do it, Mr. Castle."

She likes this boy. She likes him a lot. And though this is the first time she's actually met him, he really does remind her of Castle - the willingness to step in and defend someone he cares about, the gentleness in his eyes when he looks at Alexis.

Minerva chooses that moment to make her presence known, meowing loudly from within the redhead's grasp, and wiggling her little body until Alexis releases her onto the counter.

Drew lets out a startled chuckle as the kitten immediately comes to him, rubbing up against his arm until he runs his hand over her back and all the way up to the tip of her tail. She purrs, and the boy breaks into a smile, hesitant but pleased.

"Well," Castle says, pulling Alexis into his side once more, "shall we adjourn to the living room for the countdown?"

He looks to Kate, and she nods, leading the way. Once she reaches the couch, she pauses, unsure of where she should sit now that she and Castle are no longer alone.

She glances back at the rest of the party, finding the writer approaching with his arm still around his daughter, head bent down to whisper something in her ear that has her blushing and smiling. The boy is right behind them, holding the bag of frozen peas to his cheek with one hand and cradling Minnie in the other.

It's five minutes until midnight and she truly hopes that the coming year will be a good one for all of them. This past year...it's been tough, to say the least. She smiles to herself, knowing that Castle would qualify that as a huge understatement.

"Hey, why are you still standing around?" the man himself asks, pulling her from her thoughts. "Get comfy."

He's already sitting, a Kate-sized space open next to him with Alexis on his other side and Drew on the floor, leaning against the couch next to his girlfriend's legs.

Castle's hand is extended, and she slips her fingers into his, grazing his warm palm and allowing him to pull her down.

Usually she's working on New Year's Eve, either on a case or as extra presence at the Times Square Festivities.

So it's been a while since she watched the countdown on television. It brings back memories of falling asleep against her father's chest, awaking to her mother stroking her cheek just in time to see the ball drop.

The writer's fingers tighten around hers and she realizes that they're still holding hands.

"You okay?" he asks, his warm breath tickling the hair against her neck as he leans in to speak softly in her ear.

She turns her head to look at him, his nose brushing her cheek briefly before he leans back just enough to give her a little space.

"Just thinking," she says quietly. "Memories."

The concern in his blue eyes in nearly overwhelming, and she's struck again by how lucky she is to have a man - this man - who cares so much about her well-being.

She squeezes his hand tightly and smiles, blinking back the rush of moisture that is beginning to fill her eyes.

"I'm good, Castle. Really. We made it to another year, right? So I'm good."

He nods, pulls their joined hands to his chest, and she can feel the steady pound of his heart against the back of her hand.

"We still have," he starts and looks over at the clock on the screen, "a minute and a half before your statement comes true. Anything could happen in ninety seconds."

There's something in his statement that lightens the load, makes her laugh. She bumps his firm chest with her knuckles.

"Somehow I think we'll make it."

Their gazes catch on one another, and suddenly everything is laid bare before her. His eyes, his smile, the lines in his handsome face - they all speak of his loyalty, his devotion, the depths to which he will go to stay at her side and keep her at his. She sucks in a deep breath, and his head tilts, the curious look he sometimes gives her when he's trying to figure her out.

It's too much. After all these months, it's still too much, this knowledge that he loves her, that he would take a bullet for her. She breaks their staring match and turns back to the television. Thirty seconds to go.

He lowers their hands, squeezes, then loosens his grip. She squeezes back, and then lets go, lifting her hand to brush a wayward lock of hair out of her eyes.

Alexis begins counting down at thirty, Drew follows at twenty-six, and at twenty Castle joins them, albeit a little more quietly than the detective would have expected. She glances over to find the young redhead with a hand at the back of Drew's head, thumb smoothing lightly across the hair at the base of his skull. Minerva is, of course, perched on the boy's shoulder. The girl's other hand is tightly enclosed in her father's.

Kate feels her heart clench, and just as the three reach the ten-second mark, she slips her hand back into her partner's grasp, and starts counting with them.

Castle's fingers twitch against hers, and she turns her head just enough that she can see his profile. His eyes remain fixed on the television, but a delighted smile is blooming on his face. Her own mouth curves upward in response.

She's not sure what to expect when they reach the end of the countdown, but as they get to five, she finds herself at peace. The last time she and Castle held hands during a countdown, the outcome was extremely good. And there's very little chance that the end of this one will result in a bomb going off, so that's already a step in the right direction.

And then it's over. It's a new year and fireworks fill the screen and she can hear cheers rising not only from the television but from the streets below.

She sees Alexis bent over, her lips just drawing away from Drew's in a chaste kiss (she's sort of surprised the girl did that much in the presence of her father, and by the expression on his face, she thinks Drew might be thinking the same thing).

Castle's grip on her hand remains tight, even as he leans the other direction to wrap an arm around his daughter. Kate watches as he presses a kiss to the girl's temple.

"Happy New Year, pumpkin," he's whispering and the detective suddenly feels like an intruder into an intensely private moment. "I love you."

She's hit by a flash of memory, of Alexis yelling at her outside that bank two months ago, and she's so incredibly grateful that she was able to keep her promise to the girl. She hopes beyond hope that she'll never see the day come when she can't.

Alexis and Drew are standing now, the girl saying something about being hungry, and before she knows it, Kate finds herself alone on the couch with her partner.

He stands, pulling her up next to him, his thumb skating across the back of her hand. His perceptive eyes bore into her for a moment, questions and declarations swirling in their depths. And then she's in his arms, his large hands spanning the length and breadth of her back, her nose tucked into his collar against the sweet-smelling skin of his neck.

"We made it," he rumbles in her ear. "I wasn't sure we would, but we did."

She nods against him, tears pricking at the backs of her eyes as scenes play through her memory. All the ways she could have lost him in the past year: to bullets and freezers and bombs and her own despair.

But they're here, and he's safe and warm and real and his fingers are pressing into her shoulder blades.

"We made it," she whispers, her lips brushing his skin as she speaks.

She's not sure if it's his own memories of their near misses or the feel of her body cradled against his that causes him to shudder then, but she intensely wants it to be the latter.

Her arms tighten around him for a moment and then she pulls back, creating a little distance between them. Her hands remain on his biceps and his on her sides, but she already misses his warmth and the way he smells and how his muscles feel when he's wrapped around her.

"Happy New Year, Castle," she murmurs, squeezing his arms.

She searches his eyes, finding affection and tenderness, but no lust, not right now.

"Happy New Year, Detective," he says softly, lifting his hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.

He studies her for a moment, and she could swear she's breaking open before him, her eyes shouting all her secrets, and surely he will know, surely he can tell that she heard him in the cemetery, that his love gives her hope, that she is completely terrified of losing him or screwing this up but that she's also completely in love with him too.

But no words come from his mouth. He only looks at her. And just as she is about to say something, anything - perhaps everything - to break the tension, he pulls her forward again, once more into his arms, cocooned and sheltered in his strength.

And then he's laughing, his frame shaking against hers, sending delicious vibrations through her entire body.

"We made it. Oh, Kate, we made it."


	7. Chapter 7

Huh. She'd really thought he would kiss her. Under the guise of the new year and tradition, of course. But still...

She's not complaining though. Not when she can feel every hard line of his body pressing into her curves. Not when he's quite literally breathing down her neck. Not when his hands are cradling her like she's the most precious treasure he's ever held.

No, definitely not complaining.

She remembers waking up in that basement next to him, how right it felt. Well, not the being handcuffed together part, nor the being in unknown peril bit, but the way she woke up with her hand on his chest and his head pillowed on her arm. Yeah, that was good.

She remembers his brief, astonished pause when she asked him to lift her shirt. She remembers the way he touched her back: carefully, tenderly. He didn't poke or prod. He soothed.

He caressed.

And for all the times she's seen him blunder into danger, he's abandoned the rashness when it comes to her. He thinks now, in a way he never did for the first years of their partnership.

But sometimes she wants the impetuous. She wants the charming and playful boy he was when they met, just as much as she wants the serious and gentle man he's become for her.

He needs to know that. She wants all of him.

She vaguely wonders where Alexis and Drew are, but then she hears them in the kitchen debating the merits of cheddar versus American for grilled cheese sandwiches.

Castle's laughter has subsided, but he's still embracing her. She suspects his mirth was a desperately needed release of the pressure that's been building for both of them after the past year.

His respiration is a little ragged now. Like the laughter might have given way to something else. Delayed grief, perhaps, for the events of the past year. She wonders if he ever let himself properly mourn Montgomery.

He was her strong for her after her mentor's death. And then she was shot, and the boys told her he threw himself into her case. Did he ever stop to allow himself the time and space to process what _he_ had gone through in those days?

She suspects he never did, and unfortunately with his daughter and her boyfriend in the next room, she know her partner can't take the opportunity now.

Later. Later, she'll make sure he knows that she is here to listen, to help him heal from whatever wounds have been inflicted upon him. Even the ones she caused. Especially the ones she's caused.

Now though, she needs to get him back to laughter, back to the light, away from fear and hurt and shadows.

"Are we going for the world's longest hug record?" she asks teasingly, her voice muffled by his shoulder. "'Cause you know how competitive I am, and we could totally do it, but it would have been nice if you'd warned me so I could have properly hydrated beforehand."

He gives a startled chuckle that ruffles her hair and a final squeeze before loosening his arms around her, pulling back to grin at her.

"That wasn't really the plan," he concedes. "But it's good to know you'd be a willing participant if I ever want to try for it."

He doesn't apologize for holding her, nor does he let go just yet and her heart swells at the knowledge.

"Ah, well in that case, I think I heard Alexis talking about grilled cheese sandwiches, and I haven't eaten since last year."

He snickers in amusement, removing his hands from her sides but catching her fingers within his own.

"Katherine Beckett, that is the oldest New Year's joke in the book. I truly expected better of you."

She rolls her eyes, squeezing his hands before releasing them and taking a half step back.

"Sorry to disappoint."

He sighs, his shoulders slumping.

"Oh, how are the mighty fallen."

She shakes her head and walks away, glancing back over her shoulder to see him with his lips turned up and eyes twinkling.

When they reach the kitchen, Drew is manning the skillet, spatula in hand, while Alexis is assembling the sandwiches. Minnie is circling the boy's feet.

"American or cheddar, Detective?" the redhead asks.

Castle sidles up next to her at the bar, and both he and Drew look to her expectantly. Suddenly it feels as though her answer may change the fate of the world, and though she was ready with her answer a second before, now she's not so sure.

She has a feeling that the debate she overheard between Alexis and her boyfriend may echo one the girl has had many times over with her father.

"Actually," she says after a moment, "do you have any pepper jack?"

Drew grins, Alexis turns to dig through the refrigerator, and Castle gives her a slow, thoughtful nod.

"Motorcycles and grunge rockers. I should have known. You do like to walk on the wild side."

Kate says nothing, just purses her lips and stares back at him.

"I'm a traditionalist," Alexis says, breaking her attention. "I like American. Dad usually goes for cheddar. So does Drew. I've never tried pepper jack on grilled cheese though."

Alexis finishes assembling the sandwiches and hands the tray over to her boyfriend, who's already flipped the first two. They're golden brown, cheese oozing out the sides, and the detective's stomach grumbles loudly. She claps a hand over her belly as Castle laughs.

"Geez, dad," the girl admonishes him. "Didn't you feed her?"

Kate's not sure whether to be offended or amused, but the affronted look on Castle's face has her patting him on the shoulder and reassuring his daughter.

"He did, Alexis," she says. "He picked up dinner for the whole team, actually. But that was hours ago, and all I've had since then was a handful of popcorn and a little wine. And the sandwiches smell delicious."

Alexis still looks concerned though.

"I could make some soup or something," she says. "I mean, it would just be from a can, but if you're really hungry... Oh, and there's potato salad in the fridge."

Castle's regarding his daughter with something like pride, and Kate wonders if she looks too skinny or if it's just some genetic trait that makes this family feel the need to ply her with food whenever possible. She shakes her head.

"The sandwich will be fine," she says. "But thank you."

Alexis concedes with a nod, but Castle leans over the counter toward his daughter, whispering loudly.

"I taught you better than that, pumpkin. Get the potato salad too."

She wants to kick him in the shin but thinks better of it. That wouldn't exactly set a good example for the two young people currently preparing their food. Generosity shouldn't be met that way, even if she knows that Castle's trying to pull her pigtails.

She settles for giving him a too-sweet look that she knows he'll correctly interpret to mean that sugar-coated death awaits him if he doesn't stop making it look like she can't take care of herself.

"What?" he asks. "I'm hungry too, and I don't want you stealing my sandwich when yours isn't enough."

He's happily digging himself deeper with every word, and Kate begins looking for an ally.

"Drew, do you do this to Alexis? Publicly contradict her and imply that she doesn't know what she wants?"

The boy glances up from his grilling duties and shakes his head, expertly using one hand to pluck off the kitten that is climbing up his left leg and setting her on the floor.

"No, ma'am. I know better than to do that if I want to stick around."

The detective turns back to Castle, ready to point out that the high school student has better sense than he does, but her partner has an almost stunned expression on his face.

She mentally rewinds, and then stifles a groan when she realizes that both her question and Drew's answer have, in essence, compared the relationship between Alexis and her boyfriend to that of the detective and the writer. And the two are most definitely not the same.

That wasn't her intent at all, but the soft way Castle is looking at her now keeps her from backpedaling. Let him think that's what she meant to do. She cares for him, feels something much deeper than friendship or partnership, and she does want him to know it, even if she can't say the words just yet. Even if she can't admit to knowing that he feels the same way.

"Plus, she's always right anyway," the boy says, startling Kate from her thoughts.

Alexis turns a pleased smile on the young man, even as Castle laughs, and the detective nods.

"You will go far, young grasshopper," the writer says sagely, eliciting a grin from the boy who is sliding the sandwiches from the skillet onto plates and handing them to his girlfriend.

Alexis takes the plates and tosses a large dollop of potato salad on each one before passing them on to their intended diners, winking at Kate when she hands the detective her meal.

Castle reaches toward his daughter, fingers pointed down and pressed together, his classic feeding of the birds gesture. Alexis accepts, and this time Kate does kick him lightly in the shin and glare at him.

He smiles infuriatingly.

"Just eat your food, Detective."

The younger pair join them at the other end of the bar and quickly dig in. Kate follows their example.

Castle's not eating though, and when she glances up at him, he's watching her with undisguised affection.

"Eat," she commands gently, and when she goes back to her own plate, he starts in on his.

She has a mouthful of potato salad when she sees his hand sneaking over to grab one of her sandwich triangles.

"Hey," she says loudly, pulling her plate away and rapping his knuckles with her fork. "You've got your own."

Blue eyes plead with her.

"I just wanted to try a bite with the pepper jack," he murmurs.

He's wearing that look, the one she's mentally dubbed his 'kicked puppy' expression. She knows he's faking. She doesn't want to give in, but hell if that face doesn't make it impossible not to.

"You could have just asked," she says reproachfully, but she pushes her plate back in his direction.

His eyes light up, the pretended hurt instantly disappearing as he reaches over to rip off a corner of her sandwich.

"Castle," she warns, her tone stopping his hand's progress halfway to his mouth. "It'll be your own fault if I wake you up at three in the morning because I'm hungry."

He nods and pops the bite into his mouth, chewing slowly, savoring. His eyes fall half shut and he makes a little humming noise in the back of his throat.

She really wishes they were alone right now.

He swallows and her eyes follow the bob of his adam's apple. When she looks back up at his face, his mouth is trying to remain solemn, but there are slight crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

"Duly noted, Detective," he says soberly. "If you feel the need to wake me up in the middle of the night, by all means, do so. In whatever way you see fit."

There's a coughing on her other side, and she turns to see Alexis, red-faced and leaning over her plate, Drew patting her firmly on the back.

Kate stands and makes her way around the counter to grab the girl a glass of water, elbowing Castle in the side on her way.

"You okay there, sweetie?" he asks, and Alexis nods as Kate hands her the glass.

The redhead takes a long sip and glances at her boyfriend before looking back at the two adults.

"I'm fine. Just bit off more than I could chew."

Kate clamps both lips between her teeth to keep from laughing at the girl's obvious embarrassment, though she herself is slightly mortified and even Castle is a little pink. Drew, on the other hand, seems to be quite enjoying the evening's interactions if the twinkle in his eyes is anything to go by.

She heads back her spot, passed Minnie's food and water, wondering where the little creature has gone. It doesn't take long to find out, because as soon as she sits, Castle yelps in surprise, and of course, there is the kitten, halfway to his knee.

He scoops her up and sets her on his thigh, where she promptly curls up and goes to sleep.

Kate should probably be offended by how little her cat takes notice of her when Castle's in the room, but honestly, she's not surprised. He seems to have a way of capturing the attention of the Beckett women.

"Well," Drew says, drawing Kate's focus away from Minnie and her favored human. "I should get going so you all can get some sleep."

The detective glances at her watch to find it's nearly one o'clock.

"You wanna call the car service for him?" Castle asks his daughter, and the boy shakes his head, but the writer insists.

Alexis pulls out her phone and steps away to make the call while Drew comes over to their end of the bar.

"Very nice to meet you, Detective," he says, holding out his hand to grasp hers in a firm shake. "Thank you for checking on the bruise."

She nods and smiles at him. He really is very polite.

"Nice to meet you as well, Drew. And it was no problem."

He steps up to Castle next, shaking her partner's hand as well.

"Thanks for letting me hang out here, Mr. Castle, and for letting me use the car service."

The writer claps him on the shoulder.

"You're more than welcome, Drew. Thank you for watching out for Alexis. And your delicious grilled cheese sandwiches too. Be safe."

The young man grins, then stumbles back a step when Minnie (she had been asleep, hadn't she?) launches herself from Castle's thigh straight at the boy's chest.

He catches her though, and rubs an affectionate hand across her ears.

"Nice to meet you too, little one," he says kindly before handing her back to Kate.

Alexis returns then, telling them that she'll wait in the lobby with him and be back in a few minutes.

The two head out, Drew calling "Happy New Year" over his shoulder before he closes the door.

"I like him," the detective says, nudging Castle's knee with her own.

The writer nods.

"It goes against all my fatherly instincts, but I like him too. He's a good kid."

She probably shouldn't, but she's going to do it anyway. Show him her hand. Tease him a little, even if it is true.

"Funny," she says, turning to face him. "That's what my dad said about you."


	8. Chapter 8

"He likes me?" the writer asks, surprise and pleasure mingling on his face. "Your father likes me?"

Kate nods, struck by how much she cares that her father's opinion is obviously this important to him.

"Wow..." he says on an exhale.

She braces an elbow on the counter and tilts her head into her hand, smiling at him slightly.

"Why does that surprise you so much, Castle?"

She sees the sudden mood shift in his body language before he actually speaks.

"I just thought," he says quietly, and she sits straight up when she hears his tone. "I guess I just thought he'd blame me."

He pauses, and she furrows her eyebrows.

"For digging up your mother's case," he clarifies, his voice dropping ever lower in volume until she has to lean forward to hear his words. "For getting you shot."

No. Oh, Castle, no.

The detective presses her palms to her eyes, willing back the rising moisture. When she looks up again, he's sitting slumped in his chair, staring down at his lap where his fingers run gently over Minerva's back. His hand is shaking.

"Castle," she whispers, slipping out of her seat. "Castle, listen to me."

He doesn't look at her, so she stills his hand with her own, picks up the kitten and drops her carefully on the floor.

She twines her fingers with his, her other hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

"This," she starts and has to swallow against the tightness in her throat. "None of this is your fault."

His eyes dart up, and she can see the beginning of a protest as he opens his mouth. She removes her hand from his shoulder to press one finger over his lips.

"No," she says firmly. "It's not your fault."

His power of speech impeded, Castle resorts to shaking his head until she untangles their fingers and brings her other hand up to cup his neck and hold him still.

"Rick," she says, and his eyes widen at the use of his first name. "You-"

She cuts herself off at the sound of the door opening, dropping her hands away from him and taking a step back.

Thankfully, Alexis is absorbed in her phone and doesn't see her father's expression until he's had a chance to plaster on a smile.

"Heading to bed, pumpkin?" he asks, and if his voice is a little rougher than usual, his daughter either doesn't notice or decides not to mention it, a fact for which Kate is grateful.

Though Alexis seemed happy enough to see her this evening and had been pleasant (despite the extremely recent break-up) at their dinner after the hostage standoff, Kate can't help remembering the anger in the young girl's expression that morning in front of the bank.

She'd thought it had to do with Castle being in constant danger because of the detective. But maybe it has something to do also with this guilt he's apparently carrying around his neck like an albatross.

"Yep, I think I will," the redhead answers. "Good night, and Happy New Year."

She leans over to kiss her dad on the cheek, then reaches over to snag Kate's hand for a quick squeeze.

"Goodnight, Detective."

A meow at her feet has her crouching down to scratch behind the kitten's ears.

"Goodnight, Minnie."

Alexis stands and leans into her father one last time, throwing her arms around his shoulders.

"Love you, Dad," the girl says, her words muffled in his neck.

The writer returns the sentiments along with a kiss to the young woman's temple, squeezing her tightly.

"Sleep well, Alexis," Kate calls out as the girl traipses up the stairs, turning back to smile at both of them.

"You too."

Castle stands and begins clearing the remnants of their midnight meal. The detective can tell he's trying to keep his features clear, even retaining a hint of a smile on his face. But she can see the tension in the muscles of his jaw, the way he moves a little stiffly, how he won't quite look her in the eye.

She steps in close beside him, rinsing plates and forks and passing them along to be put in the dishwasher.

"You should be all set in the guest room," he says as he closes and starts the cycle on the machine. "But if you need anything else, let me know."

He turns to her with a smile, but it's the fake one she's seen him use at publicity events.

"Happy New Year, Kate," he says, and she's glad at least that he's still calling her by her first name. "Sleep well. I'll try to be up by seven so we can get going."

Castle flips off the main light switch, leaving the kitchen bathed only in the glow of a small lamp that she's never noticed. Shadows play across his face as he nods at her in farewell.

He makes it halfway to his office before she catches him by the elbow.

There's no surprise in his expression when he turns, but his eyes plead with her not to do this right now. She knows she won't sleep though, not if she's worrying about him.

She says nothing, just pulls him through his office and into his bedroom, shutting the door behind them and then turning to face him.

"As I recall, the guest room is right next to your daughter's, and your office isn't exactly soundproof with that open shelving."

He looks at her in surprise for a moment before he recovers, mask firmly back in place.

"Why, Katherine..." he begins, a playful leer on his face.

But she's not going to let him start on the jokes.

"Sit, Castle," she says, gently, but with no less authority in her voice. "Please."

He does, dropping heavily onto the plush mattress, his hands scrubbing over his face.

"Kate, do we really have to..."

She cuts him off by resting her hands on his knees, bracing herself as she crouches before him. She didn't want to do this standing, but she couldn't sit on the bed with him either. Not yet. So this remained the only option. And somehow, it feels right.

"Yes, Castle, we do," she tells him, her quiet voice reverberating in the silence of the room. "Because I have some things I need to say, things you need to hear."

He pulls his hands from his face, lowering them to his sides, though they hover for a second over hers before they land on the bedspread on either side of his hips.

"Okay."

Here in the half-light of his bedroom, it hits her how tired he looks. It's a bone-deep weariness beyond that caused by the late hour, reflected more in his eyes than in the short stubble on his chin and upper lip. Suddenly, she doesn't remember what she was going to say to him. She just knows that he is hurting and she can't bear to see him in pain.

"Castle," she whispers, her breath hitching in her throat. "I need you to listen to me."

He nods his assent before she continues.

"Do you know why my father likes you?"

He shakes his head.

"My guess is that it has something to do with the fact that he watched you try to jump in front of a bullet for his daughter. Remember that?"

Her tone is as kind as she can make it, but his eyes still flick away from hers toward the city lights outside his window.

"Not that it did any good," he murmurs, and her heart constricts within her chest.

"Well, you know what they say: It's the thought that counts."

He chuckles half-heartedly.

"I don't think that's exactly how this ambiguous 'they' meant it, Kate."

She hums, her alto voice resonating in the back of her throat, and runs her thumbs back and forth just above his kneecaps.

"Maybe not," she whispers, drawing his dark eyes back to hers. "But it's what counts for my dad. It's what counts for me."

He lifts his left hand from the bedspread and presses it to the side of his thigh, covering her fingers with his warmth.

"But I started all of this," he says hoarsely.

She shakes her head.

"No. Raglan and McAllister and-" she pauses to take a deep, ragged breath. "-and Montgomery started all of this twenty years ago, by taking justice into their own hands. By doing things they shouldn't have done. You didn't start anything."

He says nothing, and she knows he's silently disagreeing with her.

The writer is taking responsibility for something he didn't cause, and she's not sure how to make him see things her way.

Even when she's been angry at him for things that involve her mother's case, it's never been because she thought the things that happened were somehow his fault.

She was furious that first year when he went behind her back. And she raged at him last May when he tried to get her to back down, more out of hurt than anything else. Because she thought he was abandoning her.

But he didn't. After she refused to answer his dozens of calls, he still showed up at the hangar, saving her life even when she begged him to let her stay and fight.

And then he stood with her at the funeral, and tackled her, and held her while the world went black.

He came to the hospital as soon as he could, flowers and a joke ready for her. And she sent him away.

Oh.

She sent him away, and she didn't call for four months. Not even after she heard about his fight with Josh. Well, more like Josh heaping guilt upon him and then attacking him in the hospital corridor.

No wonder he thinks he's at fault. She hasn't exactly given him reason to believe otherwise, has she?

Her shoulders sag, and she rocks back on her heels. His left hand tightens around her fingers momentarily before lifting away completely.

He's letting her go. He won't hold her to him if she wants to get away, not anymore.

She hears a scratching and a meow at the door, and she glances behind her, not quite processing the sounds. He stands, her fingers slipping away from his knees, and steps carefully around her to make his way across the room.

"Castle?" she calls, but he's opening the door and Minnie is rushing in, leaping to Kate's knees and then to the bed, making herself very much at home on one of the writer's pillows.

When she turns back, he's still there, silhouetted in the doorway, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Enough. Enough of this now.

She gets to her feet and walks toward him, hands held out in supplication. She approaches him cautiously, as if he might bolt at any second. But he stays still until she reaches him, until she can grasp his hands and unfurl his fingers.

"It's not your fault," she says softly. "God, Rick, none of this is your fault."

His fingers clutch at hers, and he sways toward her just an inch.

"I didn't leave and not call you all summer because I blamed you," she continues, her voice earnest and pleading. "You have to know I could never blame you for Montgomery dying or me getting shot."

She feels him flinch, the way he almost stumbles back into the door frame.

"There are evil people out there, people who want me dead, and probably you too. But you're one of the good guys. You'll always be one of the good guys. And you absolutely did not cause any of this."

She can hear the breath rattling in his chest before he speaks.

"But if I'd let you stay. Or if I'd come armed. Maybe Montgomery would still be alive."

She shakes her head.

"Or maybe all three of us would be dead."

His hands tighten around hers.

"I could have tried harder to get you to walk away," he whispers.

She pulls his hands up between them, pushing his palms together, her long, slender fingers curling around his.

"As I recall, I told you to get out of my apartment," she tells him. "And I seem to remember that I was holding a gun. So you were probably wise to leave."

He lets out a strangled chuckle.

"And when have I ever listened when someone told me what to do?"

She shrugs nonchalantly.

"You listened to my father."

Even in the darkness, she can see the tightening of his mouth.

"He told me, Castle," the detective murmurs. "He told me how he came here and asked you to make me back down."

The writer opens his mouth, another apology, perhaps, on the tip of his tongue.

"That wasn't your job, though," she says. "It isn't your job to make sure I don't kill myself."

He shakes his head, dipping his head to meet her eyes.

"It is my job," he whispers. "I'm your partner. And I screwed it up and they killed Roy and they shot you and I shouldn't have yelled at you that night. If I'd just stayed calm..."

He pulls his hands from hers and steps past her. The move surprises her and when she turns around, she expects to find him pacing, muttering his way through what ifs and could have beens. Instead, he's sitting silently on the edge of the bed, hunched over, head buried in his hands.

She isn't sure what more she can tell him. Everything she says he refutes. So she stands there, watching him. Observing him the way he does her. Taking in the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes. She's scrambling for words, but the ideas have run dry.

Is this how he felt when he came to her apartment that night? Was it this gut-wrenching for him to watch her sink into despair and self-destruction? Was it this painful to know that nothing he said made a difference?

She can't just stand here and do nothing.

Before she can move though, Minnie is there, rubbing her little face against his elbow, squirming into the small triangle formed by his arm, chest, and leg.

Kate watches as the tiny creature bumps her head against him, purring and kneading his thigh as if she senses his misery and wants to offer whatever comfort she can. She crawls across his legs, then jumps down, disappearing under the bed.

He sighs, his breath a little shaky, and it jolts the detective into action. Three steps later, she's kneeling in front of him, reaching up to peel his hands away from his face.

"I'm sorry, Castle," she whispers. "I am so sorry."

His head pops up and his blue eyes catch hers in question.

"Why in the world should you be sorry, Kate?"

She squeezes his hands, pulling them toward her as she leans forward. His knuckles brush her forehead as she bends over his fingers. She can't meet his gaze with this grief rolling in her gut.

"For making you bear this burden. For whatever I said or did to make you think that I held you responsible for any of it. You're not. You're...you're the one who's been helping me find the people who are responsible, who did this to me and my family. Castle, you're the one who's been by my side every step of the way. I can't thank you..."

Her words are cut off when he slides to the floor in front of her, their joined hands squeezed in the tight space between them.

He lifts their hands to his mouth, his lips pressing gently against her fingers.

"Always, Kate," he promises, his voice deep and uneven and suddenly – blessedly – hopeful. "Always."


	9. Chapter 9

She lifts shiny eyes to find him watching her through long lashes even as his head is bowed over their enmeshed fingers.

And then he's kissing not her hands but her mouth instead, his lips warm and supple over her own as he breathes new life into her lungs, into her soul.

This, this is what she's been waiting for. What she's been hoping, longing, aching for all these many months.

And maybe there's still a wall and maybe she's still broken and maybe she hasn't been honest with him about her memories, but he's sure doing a damn good job of making her forget all of that.

His hands release hers to tangle in her hair, cradling her head and pulling her closer to run his tongue lightly over her top lip. She opens to him, but he keeps the kiss soft, tender.

Her fingers unfold from where they lay trapped against his chest and she slides her left hand up, over his collar bone, across the cords of his shoulder to curl around his neck. The other hand remains firmly pressed against his thumping heart, his internal metronome keeping time with her own.

Castle shifts, one broad hand dropping from her hair to support her lower back, the writer's calloused fingertips finding their way to bare skin. She shudders as he gently strokes the base of her spine, and when the touch of his fingers is accompanied by the lovely sting of his teeth against her bottom lip, she gasps.

In surprise, he rocks back on his heels, pushing himself away from her. But short of crawling under the bed with the kitten, he has no place to go, so their knees stay pressed together, her hands dropping from his chest and neck to rest on his thighs.

The detective opens her eyes to find him nearly gaping at her, eyes a deeper blue than she's ever seen, dark and half-glazed with want, but so worried too, so concerned as he stares at her. Well, she can't have that.

"Mmm," she hums lazily. "You're about an hour and a half too late there, Castle."

His eyebrows furrow and she can almost see the wheels turning in his brilliant brain.

"Too...late?" he finally parrots back to her.

She nods.

"To pass this off as a new year's tradition."

He looks dumbfounded for a moment and then he laughs, that rich, sexy laugh that does wonderful things to her insides, even if it is tinged this time with a hint of giddiness. Maybe more because of the giddiness.

"Katherine Beckett, if this," he gestures between them, reaches up to fix his own twisted collar (and when did she do that?), "is what tradition is like with you, remind me to buy some mistletoe for next Christmas."

She lifts her hand to lightly circle a finger on one of his shirt buttons, giving him that shy, flirty smile that always seems to throw him off his game.

"What makes you think I don't already have some?"

The way he looks at her sends heat flooding through her veins, and never would she have thought that this - whatever this is - would happen here, on their knees on his bedroom floor after an apology and an absolution.

That's as far as she gets in her thinking process, because then he's leaning forward again and pulling her against his body and sliding his arms around her sides and oh, his lips.

This kiss is less frantic than any of their previous three, yet somehow feels far more urgent, like it bears the weight of everything between them. The first two, of course, were undercover and had the added element of danger and fear for their friends. And she suspects from his reaction to what happened a minute ago that he had not fully intended to kiss her and what's more, wasn't sure how she would receive it.

Now though, now that he knows that she's not going to shoot him, she can feel the change in the way his lips press against hers. She can feel the want, and yes - the need. But there's no desperation in the gentle motion of his head as he angles it just right, no fear in the soft swipe of his tongue at the corner of her mouth.

She can tell he's smiling when he breaks from her lips, light stubble grazing her cheek as his nose finds its way through her messy hair to brush the lobe of her ear.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs, his breath warming her neck.

It's too much, too soon for her recently mended heart, but she's not about to tell him to stop, can't make herself give this up, even if it might complicate things down the line.

She hums contentedly and winds her arms around his neck, pressing her torso against his chest, close and yet not nearly close enough.

He huffs a laugh against her skin, and that makes her hold him all the more snugly.

"This is good," she whispers. "You are good, Castle."

And it's more than just how he kisses her or the way he embraces her. It's him - his character and his heart and the way he pours everything he has into the people he loves. He's passionate and steadfast and truer than she's ever known.

She expects him to take her words and run with them, to warp them into the innuendo that he wields so well. And it would be fine. It would be him and his ego (that makes her smile, though she'd never admit it).

But he doesn't. He just breathes deeply, inhaling her and tugging her nearer.

"Kate."

Her name has never sounded better coming from him. Coming from anyone, actually.

"Do you believe me now?" she asks quietly, her cheek pressed to his.

"Hmm?" he responds, and if his eyes are even open, she can imagine the way he looks, a little dazed, a little dreamy. "What?"

She leans against his hands at her back, giving her enough room to see his face but not separating fully.

"When I said I don't blame you," she clarifies, pulling one hand from his neck to run her thumb under his eye. "Do you believe me now? Because I wouldn't have let you kiss me if I was holding some kind of ill-placed grudge."

His eyes are slowly clearing and he leans into her hand.

"I didn't exactly ask your permission though."

She shakes her head, sliding her fingers back to graze the shell of his ear.

"Trust me, Castle. If you didn't have my permission, you'd be crying in a ball on the floor by now."

His eyebrows lift, but he manages to hold back a smile.

"I believe you," he says, and she can tell by his serious tone and solemn face that he means it, not only concerning her ability to seriously injure him but also as it applies to their earlier discussion.

"Good," she says, gently tweaking his earlobe. "No more of that, okay?"

He loosens his grip on her, pressing himself back into the mattress behind him.

"No more of this?" he asks, one hand rubbing softly up and down her side, his eyes sparkling though the rest of his face remains somber.

She's never been happier to hear him joke with her. The detective shakes her head.

"I said no more of _that_, Mr. Understands Every Nuance of the English Language," she teases, before growing determined again. "No more of the guilt."

He nods his understanding.

"And this?"

She shrugs, biting her lip as she watches the play of emotions - hope, trepidation, joy - across his features. It's the trepidation that decides her.

Tucking herself into his embrace once more, she nudges her nose into his throat, leaving herself just enough space between her mouth and his skin to guarantee that he'll hear her words.

"I think more of this would be okay."


	10. Chapter 10

"Stay with me, Kate," he rumbles in her ear, his voice soft, his arms still tight around her. "Don't leave me."

She flashes back to the last time she heard those words, his face silhouetted under a clear blue sky, eyes fearful and pleading.

It takes every ounce of strength she has not to shudder at hearing them again. She suspects she hasn't been completely successful though when he pulls back to look her in the eyes.

"Not...not for that," he says, and it takes her a moment to realize what he thinks caused her reaction. "I just want to hold you. To know you're really here. With me."

It's not a good idea. All of the reasons she's shied away from this until now come rushing back. First and foremost being that she's still lying to him about what she remembers from that day.

"I..." she begins, and she can tell he already knows what she's going to say.

Heartbreak and devastation flicker through his eyes, and she can't take it. She can't do it.

"Yeah, okay," she hears herself whispering before she can shut her mouth. Her brain has apparently seen fit to hand the reins over to her heart.

His whole body - not just his face, but his whole body - lights up, blue eyes sparking with delight, lips curling upward, arms tightening around her, every muscle under her hands and pressed against her quivering with his unbridled wonder.

His hands hook under her elbows and he lifts her, groaning as he pulls her up with him.

She shoots him a death glare, and he pales.

"No. I'm just...getting old. Too old to kneel on the floor. You, on the other hand, need to eat more."

A chuckle breaks free from her lips, and he grins, turning her and pressing her down to sit on the edge of his bed. Which is really soft, by the way. Huh. Being a best-selling author certainly has its perks.

"I'll be right back," he says, lifting a hand to brush his knuckles across her cheek.

His eyes say so much, repeat the words she's already heard, and she feels a warm flush rising in her skin.

And then he's gone, striding from the room, and she's left alone to press her hands into her eyes and then steeple her fingers while she considers this surprising, exhilarating, terrifying turn of events.

She could leave. Could walk out of his room and tell him she'd be more comfortable in the guest room. He'd be disappointed, she knows. But he would be his usual understanding self. Heck, she could probably go all the way home and he'd still be up early to bring her coffee and work the case with her. He's proven his ability to come back to her. To take her back, even when she pushes him away.

Soft paws on her thigh interrupt her inner faltering and she looks down over her fingers to find Minnie's bright green eyes watching her. Perceptively. It's really kind of creepy, actually. As if the small creature knows exactly what she's thinking.

Great. And now she's starting to sound like Castle with the crazy thoughts. Wasn't there a movie she saw once as a child? A Cat from Outer Space or something similarly ridiculous? Her writer would probably know the one she's talking about.

Her writer?

Oh, who's she kidding? He is her writer, and not just because he's basing a character on her.

She lowers her hands, one landing on her knee while the other drops to curl around the kitten's little body, petting her lightly and earning a loud purr in return.

"You're just too smart, aren't you, sweet girl?" she says quietly. "You don't miss a thing."

"Much like her mistress."

The detective startles, eyes shooting up to find Castle leaning against the door frame, watching her with that soft, pleased smile. Her overnight bag hangs from his hand.

"Hey."

The word is barely a murmur, timid. But it's enough to propel him forward, enough to bring him back into her orbit.

"I brought your bag."

She nods, smiles at his uncharacteristic shyness, the way his body lists to one side.

"I see that."

He shifts to the other foot, hesitation written in every line of his face.

"You don't have to..." he starts, trails off, starts again. "I mean, I don't want to..."

He goes silent when she stands, leaving Minnie behind on the bed, and steps toward him.

"Kate, I..." he tries again, but she presses a single finger against his oh so soft lips.

"Can I use your bathroom?"

He nods wordlessly and she reaches down to snag the case from his hand, his fingers slow to loosen their grasp.

"Thanks," she whispers, pushing up on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

She turns quickly toward the en suite, glancing back just once to see him with a hand at his lips, a slightly bewildered (but happy, so happy) expression on his face.

Closing the door behind her, she leans for a moment over his sink, studying her reflection in the mirror. Has it really only been what? - a little less than ten hours since she called him about the murder? And here they are and she's standing in his bathroom, about to put on her pajamas, about to go sleep with the man she loves. Well, not _sleep_ with him, but yes, sleep with him. In the non-euphemistic sense.

She flips on the cold water, cupping her hands underneath the faucet and splashing a little on her face to clear her head. When she feels slightly less muddled, she turns on the hot, opening her bag as she waits for the water to warm.

Face wash and makeup remover sit on top of her clothes. Oh. She hadn't really planned to see him between taking off her makeup tonight and putting more on in the morning.

And what? He's seen her after major surgery. He's seen her in tears and covered in blood after shooting her mother's killer. He's seen her bowed in sobbing grief over her mentor's body. Hell, he's seen her naked and bruised in her burning apartment. What's a clean face compared to that?

She bends over the sink and washes away the day's grime.

The next step is emptying her bladder, brushing her teeth, and changing clothes, all of which she does quickly. She wants to get back to him, back to his arms, her heart buoyed now by some unknown courage, some strength the memory and promise of his tenderness lend to her.

She repacks her bag and leaves it on the counter, takes a deep breath, and lets her hand hover over the doorknob.

Kate's not sure what to expect. Will he be waiting just on the other side, bouncing on his toes, heart on his sleeve? Will he be in bed already with the covers turned down for her? Fully dressed? Just in boxers and a tee shirt? Just in boxers?

Oh, she's not sure if she's ready for that last one.

But she's definitely not prepared to find the room empty when she finally opens the door. Her heart sinks, too many shades of Los Angeles echoing through her skull.

The detective stands there, feeling herself deflating more and more by the second until she turns back to the bathroom, ready to get dressed and get out of there.

"Kate?"

She pivots, and finds her writer walking back into this room, Minnie tucked into one hand and the litter box balanced in the other.

"Wow, you're fast," he comments, smiling. "I figured I'd bring her box."

He pauses halfway across the room, that hint of apprehension flickering through his eyes.

"That is, if you're still staying in here."

She nods, her heart starting to slow down to its normal rhythm. Well, as normal as it ever is when he's around.

"Good," he says, moving past her into the bathroom and setting the box in one corner.

He bumps the hot water fixture with his elbow to turn it on, soaps and rinses his hands briefly, and then tilts his head to regard her as he dries off with a navy blue towel.

"You're adorable, by the way."

Just like that, everything else fades and all she can see is the man in front of her, his slightly lopsided smile, his sparkling ocean eyes, the scanty scruff on his jaw.

"I'm in sweats and a tee shirt."

He shrugs one shoulder, coming to stand in front of her, barefoot and in a pair of flannel pants and a white undershirt. He looks downright delicious and he really needs to wear white more often. She loves the blue shirts. They bring out his eyes...but there's something about the crisp white against his naturally tan skin. Mmm.

"Still adorable."

He lifts a hand to push a dark auburn lock away from her eyes, his fingers ghosting along her temple as he tucks it behind her ear.

She's a tall woman, gangly and somewhat awkward as a teenager before she grew into her looks. But standing in front of him, she feels small, diminutive.

Like he could wrap himself around her and she would disappear. She has a vision of the picture that struck her so deeply earlier this evening, of Castle with Minnie - the tiny creature dwarfed in his arms, surrounded by his affection and care, protected from anything that would do her harm.

And it's silly, because Kate's the one with the gun and the badge and the training and the authority. But right now, all she wants to do is let herself be held.

She turns her face into his touch, her dry lips brushing against his lingering palm.

"Set the alarm for eight?" she asks quietly.

He runs his thumb under her eye, his fingertip just grazing the nearly invisible birthmark there.

"Not seven?" he inquires, and she shakes her head.

Her hand rises to his, tugging it down as she tangles their fingers and pulls him out of the bathroom.

"It's a Sunday. And New Year's Day on top of that. We'll be lucky to find anything new anyway. So we might as well sleep in a bit."

_We_. She likes that particular pronoun. By the way his lips are twitching, she thinks he might too.

"Which side?" she asks, and nods toward the bed when he looks at her, puzzled.

"Ah," he grins sheepishly. "The middle."

She purses her lips, feels her eyes scrunch up as she considers him. Finally, she pulls back the covers and crawls in, glancing back at him as he stands at the edge of the bed, his expression a little addled.

"Hope you like to cuddle, then."

He slides in behind her, hesitating for a moment and then wrapping an arm securely around her waist.

"I think I can handle that."

She settles back against him, feels the top of one cool foot brushing her ankle as he squirms to get comfortable, feels his breathing regulate itself to hers. He lets out a deep contented sigh that ruffles her hair and she smiles, even though he can't see her.

"Just to let you know, Minnie is a regular little heating pad."

His laugh vibrates into her, resonating within her chest, filling her with warmth.

"So am I. Well, a big heating pad maybe."

She jabs him gently in the stomach with her elbow.

"You trying to get me to tell you you're hot?"

His arm tightens around her.

"Maybe. Now go to sleep. I'm exhausted."

She lets her head sink into his sinfully fluffy pillow.

"Night, Castle."

His nose delves into her hair and then his lips briefly caress the back of her neck.

"Until tomorrow, Kate."

She closes her eyes, hears a small thump in front of her, then feels the pad of small paws across her legs until the kitten settles on her hip.

"Also, don't be surprised if you wake up and Minnie's sleeping on your head."

She can hear his smile as he presses his forehead against her crown.

"Thanks for the warning."


	11. Chapter 11

The first time Kate wakes up, Minnie has moved from the swell of her hip to curl in the valley of her side, just below Castle's arm. But the kitten is sleeping peacefully, so that can't be why she's awake.

Then she hears it. The writer is mumbling something in his sleep about a bar. Is he having trouble at the Old Haunt? And why hasn't he said anything?

And then there's something about Nazis. Hmm...

The next thing he whispers as he holds her a little closer has the detective biting her lip and hoping she doesn't shake with enough laughter to wake him. _We'll always have Paris._ Really? She's smiling as she drifts off to sleep again.

The second time she wakes, Minnie is nowhere to be found, but Castle has moved a bit so his large hand is spread directly over her surgery scar. And oh, does it feel good. Sometimes she moves wrong in the night and pain from her scar, stiff with lack of movement, shoots through her sharply enough to jolt her from sleep, gasping.

She's noticed that the kitten occasionally gravitates toward that spot, instinctively knowing where her bit of warmth will be most appreciated. But this - the heat of his hand on her side - it's perfect. And there's no pain tonight.

Castle is still and quiet behind her, no more nighttime musings, at least not out loud. Her brain is grasping at the remnants of her own dream though, her writer in a trench coat and fedora. It's different from the norm, but he looked good, like he could easily become that character, play that role. She wonders what it would have been like if he'd followed in Martha's footsteps and gone into show business.

Would the two of them have ever met? Would he have been her favorite actor instead of favorite author?

She's thankful he became what he is. His books had been a lifeline for her, long before she met the man who now holds that title.

"'S'too early," his rough voice makes her jump. She didn't even know he was awake. "Stop thinkin' and go back to sleep."

She scoots back into him and he sighs, his hand sliding from her side to her stomach, skirting under her breasts and sending a tingle of electricity through her nerves.

It takes a moment, but the whoosh of his breath on her neck and the pound of his heartbeat at her shoulder pull her back under soon.

The next time, she just has an overwhelming sense of being cozy and secure and warm. It's been so long since she woke up warm.

Josh was never a cuddler. It always struck her as odd, knowing that he worked with his hands as a surgeon, that he could be so tactile in that sense, and yet not nearly so much when it came to their relationship.

Oh, he touched her, but it was always with a purpose. He'd throw an arm around her in public, especially if Castle happened to be around. She allowed it, even though she knew he was visually staking his claim on her. And he touched her when they had sex, obviously. He was skilled, maybe even particularly talented, in that department. There's no question that Kate found him hot.

But this? Curling up, snuggled together in bed with no purpose other than closeness? Didn't happen with Josh. He said he couldn't sleep if he was too warm. And he didn't want to have to untangle and wake each other if one of them had to get up in the middle of the night for a call. Simple consideration, really.

Yet she knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if she had to leave right now (even if it was just to go to the bathroom), Castle wouldn't mind being roused. Not if it means he's waking because she can't get up without unwrapping herself from his arms.

Kate loves him even more for it.

She hides it well, but she needs touch, thrives on it, even more since last May.

Despite the fact that so much of her desperately wanted to be alone this summer, she found herself seeking out her father's arms every few days, curling into his side to watch a movie or sit in front of a fire, letting him help her and hold her up after a rough physical therapy session.

Now that she's back, she's glad Lanie isn't upset with her anymore. Because she needs the woman's friendly hugs, the hand on her arm. She needs the ways the boys occasionally pat her on the back or include her in their fist bumps or high fives.

And she's never been so glad to be right as when she remembers what she told Agent Shaw about Castle nearly two years ago. _He touches things._

He does. He touches her. He's always invaded her personal space, leaning into her when he wants to hear a phone call (there's a reason she almost never puts it on speaker). Standing close to her in the elevator. Bumping his hip against hers when he sits at her side while they theorize in front of the murder board.

And then there's the way their fingers brush when he passes along her coffee, the way he covered her hand with his after she found him tied up in a dingy hotel room, the way he held her in a freezer.

She has looked for ways to return the favor he unknowingly does her, looks for excuses to touch him on the hand or the arm, walking closer on cold days, sliding her fingers over his lapel when she found him alive in that bank.

So this - being enveloped by him - though it's much more than she's used to, feels like a natural progression of their normal dynamic - they were always going to get here someday. She just hadn't thought it would happen so soon.

He continues to breathe softly against the back of her neck, still asleep. But she's awake now, and light is filtering through the windows, telling her it probably won't be long before the alarm sounds.

Slowly, carefully, she slides her leg from where it somehow got sandwiched between his during the night. His arms are loose enough that she can turn within them. His fingers skating across her thinly covered skin nearly cause her to shiver, but she's able to repress the response, at least for now.

She lets her eyes survey him as he sleeps.

The blanket resting low on his hips, so close to her own. The way his white tee has ridden up to reveal the curve of his muscles, a wide strip of smooth skin and a thin line of dark hair that starts at his belly button and disappears into his sweat pants.

She moves up to his chest, the steady rise and fall as he breathes. His shirt isn't tight, but there's clearly definition under the fabric, and from what she's seen of his biceps, he's got to lift weights, and regularly.

Speaking of his arms, she takes a moment to run her eyes over the arm that stretches across and around her. She's seen him with his sleeves rolled up often enough to notice his forearms, but this is the first chance she's had to study one in detail. Okay, that's a little creepy, Kate. But well, she's a detective, she's trained to take note of her surroundings. And since what currently surrounds her is her partner...

She had a friend in high school who played the drums in a band (and who introduced her to wet flannel grunge rocker boy) and he had amazing forearms, strong and well-developed, the muscles rippling every time he moved his hands. As far as she knows, Castle has never played the drums.

But maybe with all the typing he does, he gets a workout that way. He has strong fingers, a tight grip, and she blushes when she starts to think in a little too much detail about certain things he could do with his hands. Aside from typing best-selling novels.

She knows his face so well already, can see it clearly even when she closes her eyes, both the book jacket version and the live version. She holds a mental catalog of his many different expressions and the feelings they portray: playfulness, sincerity, fear, hope, disappointment, confusion, sympathy, anger, wonder, and most often recently - love.

And she's seen him asleep, so she doesn't even really need to add his face to her survey, but she wants to anyway. She wants to know if his slack features look different when they've gone to sleep together, with her in his arms. Not drugged.

But as she lifts her eyes to his face, she stops, lifts her hand to her mouth to stifle the laughter that wants to escape.

The detective has woken up more than once in the past few weeks to find Minerva curled around the top of her head, one paw usually stretched across the woman's ear, little body partially covered in long auburn tresses.

But she's never had this particular experience. Not that she can blame Minnie. She found out last night that the skin of Castle's neck is especially warm, and it smells good with the remnants of his cologne and his own scent, and it vibrates pleasantly with his breathing.

Still, as much as she likes it when the writer wears scarves (and he did look entirely too good a couple years back with that blue striped scarf he wore a few times), she has to admit that he is even cuter with a kitten draped over his neck. Adorable really, as he dubbed her last night.

His hair is ruffled and hanging in his eyes, his face dark with stubble, but so peaceful. He looks more relaxed than she's seen him in weeks, months maybe. Probably since before her mother's case resurfaced, and it occurs to her suddenly how much of a toll all of this has taken upon her partner.

Her heart clenches at the thought. He may not have been the one who was shot, but she knows what it's like to see and friend go down. And it had to have been even harder for him not only because he loves her but because he had tried to get her to step away. And as he told her last night, he's been battling with the guilt, the feeling that he could have done more.

To add insult to injury, she herself had disappeared on him for the entire summer, pushed him away completely, left him to work her case and deal with the terror and the guilt without even knowing if she cared about him in the least.

And even after she did come back, she didn't exactly make this easy on him. She's been trying, she really has, but still finds herself pushing him away, not letting him in nearly as much as he deserves. They've made progress, especially since he showed up at her apartment last week and watched movies with her and played with her kitten and crashed on her couch.

But it's not enough anymore. It's not enough for her, and she can tell it's not enough for him, even if he has been incredibly, unfailingly patient. He's proven that he can and will wait. She just doesn't want him to wait anymore.

She doesn't want to lie to him anymore.

He loves her.

And he deserves to know that the feeling is so very, very mutual.

She lifts her hand to stroke one of Minnie's little cheeks, and sleepy green eyes slowly open for her. Honestly, she's not sure how the cat's position could possibly be comfortable. But then she doesn't have a cat's flexible spine.

The kitten stretches her front legs forward in what the detective has come to think of as the flying Superman pose. The movement causes gray fur to tickle against the writer's jaw and he twitches.

He doesn't wake, but his mouth twitches, and Kate can't resist leaving the kitten's soft fur to touch the roughness of the man's cheek. She slides her fingers along the smooth lines of his face, up to the little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and back to the silky short hair above his ears.

Castle sighs, lips curling upward and parting.

"Mmm," he hums, and Kate can tell just by the hushed sound of his voice that he's not completely awake, not yet. "Feels good."

She says nothing, but continues to stroke his hair, waiting for him to depart from his dreams and come back to her. She can see the alarm clock over his shoulder, and it's only about half past seven. But she doesn't think he'll mind if she wakes him up a little early.

"Mmm, Kate," he murmurs again, making her heart flutter at the sound of her name in that sleepy tone. "Love you too."


	12. Chapter 12

Did he just...? But she hadn't said... Had she?

The detective shakes her head to herself. She's absolutely certain that her thoughts had not translated into spoken words.

So either the man has ESP or he's still dreaming.

He has joked in the past about dreaming of her, how she plays into his fantasies. She just hadn't imagined they would take the form that they apparently do - dreams not about the two of them wearing nothing and taking advantage of their lack of clothing, but instead about her telling him how she feels.

Oh, Castle.

If she had any lingering doubts that what he said in the cemetery was only spoken because she was dying, well, he's just erased them.

She continues to absently stroke his hair and curl her fingers around his ear while she considers what she needs to do when he awakes. But before she can firm up any concrete plan of action, she feels his breathing change and watches as his blue eyes blink away the haze of sleep.

A slow smile spreads his cheeks and her own answers, refusing to be hidden in the face of his joy.

"Hey."

She lets her nails rasp gently at his scalp and he closes his eyes in bliss, letting out a little hum and a sigh that does all kinds of things to her insides.

"Hey yourself, Castle."

His hand smoothes up and down her side over her tee shirt, the friction warming and nearly making her shiver at the same time.

"How'd you sleep?" he asks quietly, his eyes opening again as his hand rises to cup her shoulder and then slides up to her neck and finally her cheek.

She leans into his touch, turning her head briefly to kiss his palm. Maybe it's not fair to either of them, maybe it's selfish of her, but if her confession does by chance cause them to crash and burn, she wants to have experienced as much of his tenderness as possible in advance.

"Pretty well," she answers, letting a hint of teasing enter her eyes. "When you weren't talking in your sleep, of course."

He flushes. She can only guess why. Maybe he does dream about more than answering her dream-self's declarations of love.

"Um..." he hesitantly asks, "what exactly did I say?"

She lets him suffer for a moment, looking at him thoughtfully before she finally puts him out of his misery.

"Something about a bar and Nazis," she tells him, and the relief on his face is evident. "Then you hugged me and told me we'd always have Paris."

He chuckles, his blush fading.

"Casablanca again..."

She lifts her head from the pillow, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Again?"

He reddens once more, spluttering a little as she grins at him.

"Yeah," he admits. "Not the first time."

She gives him an affectionate smile. His books, proof of his active imagination, have been part of her life for so long that she shouldn't really be surprised by this revelation.

"Did I," he starts, and she can see the hesitation on his face, "uh, say anything else?"

There's a strange mixture of hope and fear in his eyes, like he might remember whatever he was dreaming before she woke him. She's not sure which would be better - to shake her head and ignore his words from a few minutes ago or to go the full disclosure route. Her heart thumps hard in her chest.

"Kate?" he asks when she doesn't answer immediately. "What is it? What did I say?"

His tone of apprehension jars her out of her thoughts and she drops her head back to the pillow, her eyes shifting away from his to stare at the kitten still curled around his throat. He hasn't even noticed Minnie's presence.

He moves his head to see what she finds so fascinating and one of the kitten's paws comes up to push back against his chin.

The writer chuckles, pulling his hand away from Kate to run his fingers over the little creature.

"I love this new heated scarf you brought me, Detective."

He's giving her an out, allowing her the switch to humor and lightness if she wants it. She recognizes the effort for what it is. He may not be certain what she heard him say, but she knows he can tell from her silence that she's not sure what to do with it. He's allowing them to revert to familiar patterns if she so desires.

But this is their problem - they don't talk about things. Things that should be talked about.

"My name," she whispers, lifting her eyes back to his. "You said my name."

Minnie flops down from her perch, climbs up on the pillow, and then Kate listens as the kitten pads away. There's a thump as the creature lands on the floor, silence for a moment, and then the click of claws on the tile of the bathroom.

"Your name," the writer says slowly. "Also probably wouldn't be the first time. I've had, uh, more than a few dreams in which you've heavily featured. I think you know that."

She nods. She does know that. She's had more than one about him too. Nightmares, sometimes, about losing him to a sniper or a serial killer or a dirty bomb. Occasionally she dreams about doing wicked things to his body, especially after the case with the tiger a few weeks ago. Other times, she just dreams of him holding her.

"What else?"

The detective presses her lips together in a thin line, her eyes shifting again, to linger on his chest, the way she thinks she can faintly see the beat of his heart under bone and muscle, skin and shirt.

"Love you too," she says softly, and his breath quickens, though to his credit, he makes no other move. "You said, 'Kate, love you too."

When she meets his gaze, astonishment and disappointment are warring in his eyes. Disappointment? Why disappointment? She thinks through what she told him, how she said it. Oh. He must have thought... And then, when she clarified... Oh. But she does, she really does.

His face is pale now, rather than red with embarrassment, and she can see the beginnings of an explanation or an apology forming on his lips.

She presses her fingers over his mouth.

"I heard you the first time," she confesses in a low voice, and sees the confusion flit through his eyes before she continues. "I'm so sorry, Castle. I'm so sorry."

Part of her wants to keep him from speaking, keep him trapped in the softness of last night before they went to sleep. But she can't.

"The first time?" he asks, when she moves her hand.

She looks away from those blue irises, down to his throat and the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows.

"Oh," he says, and she doesn't have to see his face to know that he understands. "You remember? After you were shot?"

She nods, closing her eyes against the well of tears she can already feel.

"You never really forgot, did you?"

She should have known that he would see through her lies. He knows her, understands her. He knows all her tells. He knows when she isn't okay. Of course he would know she's been lying to him, even if he tried to make himself believe that she wouldn't do that. She nods again, unable to look at him, to see the hurt and the disappointment on his face.

"Yeah, I kinda...figured," he says softly, and there's no accusation in his voice, just resignation. "But I guess it's good. Having it out in the open."

She opens her eyes.

"What?"

He's watching her, his eyes compassionate, no hint of the anger she expected. Hurt, yes, but no anger. And somehow that's worse.

"I mean, I'm not thrilled that you lied to me, Kate," he whispers, bringing his hand up to hover over her arm before drawing back without actually touching her. "But I...understand. You had - have - a lot of other things to deal with without having to worry about me too."

She's still not sure what to do, what to say to this version of him. She expected anger, probably would have accepted his wrath as just punishment for what she's done to him. Not that he'd ever physically hurt her. But yell, kick her out of his bed, his home, his life? Maybe.

However, it seems she has underestimated him yet again, his goodness or his patience or the sheer size of his heart when it comes to her.

"Castle, I-"

He cuts her off with a shake of his head, touching her this time, a finger pressed to her lips.

"It's good that you know," he tells her. "If it helps you realize that I'm not going anywhere. That's enough for me."

She just wants to smack him sometimes. For someone so intelligent, he can be pretty dense. But he's still talking.

"Kate, I'll be here for whatever you need, even if you don't-"

She kisses him. Pulls his hand away from her mouth and kisses him. Fiercely.

His head jerks back, surprise written all over his face. Did she misjudge? No. It's just surprise, just that she caught him off guard. Nothing else.

She kisses him again, pressing her mouth to his and curling her fingers around the back of his neck to hold him in place, her lips working furiously to express her apology, her gratitude, her love for this man.

He gets a hand against her shoulder, and she thinks he might push her away. He does, but it's not a clean break, nothing harsh. He's gentle, his mouth slowly disengaging from hers.

"Kate?" he asks, wonder and disbelief evident in both his tone and his face.

They're still in bed, she realizes with a sudden jolt. They're still in their pajamas, still half covered by his luxurious sheets and soft blanket. And best of all, the alarm has not yet sounded, which means she still has time to make this right.

"Last night wasn't enough proof for you?" she asks, and his eyebrows furrow. "Just now, waking up here with me? You still don't know?"

She reaches up to her shoulder to pull his hand away, grasps it in her own, pressing tiny kisses to each of his fingers as he watches in stunned silence.

"What, Kate?" he asks, but now a tender smile is blooming on his face. "What exactly am I supposed to know?"

He's teasing her. He's teasing her and enjoying it, infuriating man. He's teasing her, and oh, she can't imagine her life without that smirk and those twinkling eyes.

"You tell me, Writer Man. How does this story go?"

Her words are muffled against his hand. She's moved down to his palm, her lips lingering gently over each deep line.

He hums, deep in the back of his throat, a low sound that gives her goosebumps.

"I think I know, but I'm not sure," he says, his eyes darkening as they bore into hers. She's never had the more distinct impression that he can read her mind, not even when they come out with the same words at the same to solve a case. "I might not be able to write the narrative alone this time. Might need some help. Might need a co-author."

He's going to make her say the words. And that's exactly what she needs, isn't it? How does he always know when to push?

She releases his hand and presses against his shoulder, pushing him away from her. Bewilderment flits through his features.

But then she's tossing a leg over his hips, rolling him onto his back, and hovering over him on her knees.

"Castle," she calls quietly, waiting until his focus shifts away from the way her legs fit around his, the way her chest is only inches from his, the way she's braced above him with her hands on either side of his head.

When his attention is fully on her face, his blue eyes softening as they meet hers, then she speaks again.

"Castle, I'm in love with you."


	13. Chapter 13

"Kate..."

His voice is low and breathless, and she suspects that even though he was goading her, urging her on, he didn't really expect her to say the words.

But she's not taking them back.

"I'm in love with you," she says again, leaning down to drop a kiss on his nose, his eyes sliding shut as she nears.

"I'm in love with you," she repeats once more, nuzzling into him, pressing her forehead against his and letting her mouth linger over his, sharing his breath.

"I'm in-"

And then she's on her back, stunned as he laughs over her, blue eyes sparkling and pleased with himself, pleased with her too.

One of his hands curls around the back of her neck, his elbow against the mattress for stability. The other hand slides slowly up her side, lingering briefly over the surgery scar under her shirt (she's still not sure how he knows its exact location), brushing lightly against the side of her breast as he draws his fingers up to her clavicle, thumb gently caressing the jutting bone.

She closes her eyes against the sudden onslaught of sensation.

Right. That's the only word she can come up with at the moment. This feels _right._

Her thighs cradle his hips. His belly presses against hers. Her feet bracket the strong muscles of his calves. His whole body seems to be quivering against hers, and when she opens her eyes again, she still sees joy in his gaze. Need now too. Lust, yes. But mostly love and that boundless joy.

"Kate," he whispers, his lips curling upward as he speaks her name in a reverent tone.

She unwraps one arm from around his neck (when did that happen?) and brings her thumb down to rub his cheekbone, her index finger just flicking his earlobe.

"I'm in love with you, Castle."

He grins.

"Yes, I believe you mentioned that already."

She pulls her head back as far as she can (which really isn't very far with the way he's holding her) and lifts an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, did you want me to stop?"

He shakes his head from side to side.

"Wasn't complaining, Kate."

She slides her thumb back from his cheek to run it around the shell of his ear, curling her whole hand around the warm cartilage.

"Why are you still talking then?" she asks, parting her lips in a wide smile.

He shrugs.

"No idea. Probably because I-"

"Castle," she cuts him off mid-sentence. "Shut up and kiss me."

The last words she hears from him are a gruff _yes ma'am_ and then his lips are on her.

Her mouth is first.

He's a good kisser, she's known that for nearly a year. That night in the alley, he swept her up in his arms, and she'd become distracted by his kiss. So distracted that if the guard hadn't let out that little chuckle, she might have forgotten why they were there, why she was pressed against her partner in between dark warehouses.

She had to agree with him, it was amazing.

But that edge of desperation - of fear - is gone, and whatever extra adrenaline or extra high the situation might have provided, she thinks their current position will be even better. Knows it will be even better.

Because both of them are free and there's no guilt. Because they're just themselves and not playing some role to fool a guard. Because he loves her, and she loves him just as fiercely. And now they both know it.

He's tender in the way his lips slide over hers, soft with his press against her, nibbling but not biting, and she can still feel the smile that he apparently can't leave behind.

She likes this - being able to tell how happy he is because of her. Her heart swells and she glides her hand down this neck to his chest. He's warm and the muscle jumps under her fingers and oh, she wants to feel his skin and not just this soft cotton.

As his smiling mouth deserts hers to work across her jaw, she smoothes her hand up his side to his back.

He's broad and strong and it's one more thing that she loves about him - the way he's built. She likes knowing he's there and solid behind her when they go into an unknown situation. She remembers watching him hug his daughter when he got out of the bank, the way the girl melted into the fortress of his body.

Her fingers drift down until they catch bare skin at his lower back. His breath quickens, and he pulls his face away from hers to look at her. Oh, his eyes are dark, darker than she's ever seen them and glinting with barely restrained passion. His usual steel blue has become a deep ocean and she can't wait to explore the treasures below the surface.

She looks him in the eye as her short nails scratch at a strip of skin just above his waistband.

He groans, a deep guttural sound that sends tremors through her bones.

And then his mouth is at her throat, laving her pulse point, nipping at her jugular, and if she doesn't shift his focus quickly, he's going to leave a mark. She might not mind but for the fact that the shirt she brought to wear today is nowhere near a turtleneck and she can't exactly justify wearing a scarf all day if they end up at the precinct.

Her hand trails up his back, pulling his white shirt with it. He chuckles when he realizes what she's doing, but lets her continue.

"A little eager, Detective?"

She just gives him that wicked smile she knows he loves, pink tongue barely poking between her teeth as she uses both hands to drag the tee over his shoulders and head, ruffling his hair in the process.

He leans down to kiss her again, but she pauses him with a hand against his chest. Her quirks an eyebrow at her in question.

Her other hand joins the first at his torso. Not pushing away, not truly holding him back, but just carefully tracing the lines of each muscle.

The writer shudders and she looks up at his face. His eyes are squinted shut, his mouth twisted in agony or pleasure or perhaps some blend of the two. His breathing is ragged.

She wants to... Oh, how she wants to... But there's not enough time, and she hadn't meant to let it get this far right now. Later.

The detective flexes her abdomen, pulling herself up to reach him. She coasts one hand around to his shoulder, tugging down on his left side so she can press her lips to the burning surface of his chest, her mouth covering the visible pounding of his heart.

His whole frame sags, and he falls into her welcoming arms.

"I love you," she whispers into his skin, into his muscle and sinew and blood.

She can't even hear her own words, but somehow he understands, as he always does, the hitch in his breathing an easy sign.

His body is heavy over hers, a sturdy shield against the coming day, and when he starts to lift himself away from her, she grasps his shoulders, holding him there. It's not his whole weight bearing down on her anyway, he's got elbows and knees bracing him enough that he's not crushing her, and she doesn't want to let him go. Not just yet.

A rumble vibrating into her speaks to his laughter and she smiles against him, breathing in his scent. He hasn't showered since sometime yesterday, and his usual cologne has mostly faded. But as she lets her lips linger on his skin, she can detect a hint of citrus and cinnamon and oddly, coffee.

"You taste like coffee," she says, and he lifts up for her to repeat herself, this time so he can hear the words.

He smiles and rolls onto his side, pulling her with him until her chin is pillowed on his chest.

"So do you," he chuckles. "I like it."

She feels the blush rising in her cheeks and turns her head to bury her face in the crook of his elbow.

He tightens his arms around her.

"I know you brushed your teeth last night, so if you still taste like coffee..." he nudges her until she looks at him, finding an extremely serious expression on his face, "we might need to cut down on your intake."

She pinches his side lightly and he yelps.

"Just because you know I love you does not mean you can dictate my coffee intake, Richard Castle."

He shakes his head, mischief dancing in his eyes and his grin.

"Kate, Kate, Kate...I've been doing that for ages."

His eyes are twinkling and she can't even glare at him. She's certain she'll rediscover that balance eventually, the one that allows her to put him in his place. She'll need it at some point. But right now, all she wants to do is smile at him.

"I do love you," she says quietly, and all joking fades away from his face.

He lifts his hand to brush the hair from her eyes, to gently stroke her forehead and her cheeks and her lips. The arm that holds her squeezes and she drops her head, tucking her nose against his neck and just basking in this moment. This tiny and monumentally huge moment of perfection.

"I love you too, Kate," he whispers, lips pressed against her ear. "So very, very much."

His breathing slows and she's not sure if he's drifting off to sleep again or just taking it all in, as she is.

They stay there, resting in the peace of the early morning. They'll have to get up soon. The alarm will sound, they'll take showers (separately, at least today), and they'll head out to see if they can make any progress on their case. But for now, this is beyond good. She never expected this when she came over last night.

A week ago, she woke up in her father's cabin on Christmas morning, missing her writer, knowing she couldn't really even call him that, not with any real claim. Now she's here, sprawled across his bare chest. It doesn't feel real.

She expected to be waking up in his guest room, wandering down to the kitchen with Minnie in tow to find him making waffles or eggs or toast and coffee. Speaking of coffee...

"Why do you taste like coffee?" she asks, shifting back so she can see his face again.

He shrugs.

"Probably the same reason you do. I drink too much."

"So much that it's leaking out your skin?" she asks.

He tilts his head and she realizes what she has just admitted. But he simply looks thoughtful for a moment and then speaks.

"Oh, I ran into Alexis yesterday morning in the kitchen and spilled my coffee all over. Changed clothes, but I didn't shower again."

She smiles at his explanation, lifting up from his chest to skim her eyes across his body.

"All over?"


	14. Chapter 14

His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No sound escapes him, not even the squeak she halfway expected.

But before she can explore exactly what 'all over' might mean, the alarm is blaring on the nightstand, startling both of them. He laughs, and she drops her head.

Castle throws a hand over to hit the snooze, then brings his arm back down to wrap once more around her shoulders, drawing her into his chest.

"Later," he whispers softly, and she nods.

He holds her there for a moment, tight against his warm, smooth skin. When she tilts her head to see his face, his eyes are closed, and he's smiling.

She lifts a hand to run lightly across those upturned lips. He parts them, catching one finger between his teeth, sliding his soft tongue along the tip.

Oh, he's not going to make it easy for her to leave his bed, is he?

She pulls her finger from his mouth, dragging it across his cheek to swirl around the shell of his ear, flicking at the lobe before she brings her hand back to brace her chin on his chest.

"None of that now," she chides gently, when he opens his eyes to give her a questioning look. "No time."

He drives her to distraction, and it would be so easy to just stay here with him, cocooned in warmth and peace and mutual affection. But they can't. There's a case and a daughter and an entire world outside of his bedroom, waiting for the two of them to emerge.

She braces herself on his chest, lifting up to press a soft kiss to his lips before she slides off. He catches her by the hand before she can get too far away, pulling her hand to his mouth to brush against her knuckles

"Thank you," he says quietly, meeting her eyes.

She pulls her hand from his grasp, skimming her fingers across his cheek, up to smooth his eyebrow, over to the short hair at his temple. He answers her unspoken question.

"For being here, for letting me in."

Oh. Oh. She doesn't deserve this good, wonderful, beautiful man.

She leans in to press her mouth fully to his, wet and deep and strong, pouring her love into him, giving him everything she can in this moment.

His hand curls around her neck, trapping her against him, but she doesn't want to escape, not from this. Not from him. Not anymore.

She lets the kiss come to its natural end as they both draw back to breathe. Her forehead rests against his, and she opens her eyes to find him watching her, eyes blue and fathomless and laying bare everything she knows he's wanted to say for so long.

She blinks slowly, not turning away from his silent declarations, but accepting them, taking them inside herself, cherishing and protecting them as he does for her.

Hooking her arm around his neck, she tugs him forward into an embrace.

"Thank you for not giving up on me."

He breathes deeply against her hair and slides his arms around her, cradling her, supporting her.

"Never, Katherine Beckett," he says, his voice low and firm and determined. "I will never give up on you. On us."

She doesn't know how he always has the right words, suspects he doesn't even know that he always has the right words for her.

His jokes, his encouragement, even his angry criticisms - they are always right, even when his words hurt because she knows them to be too true.

They need to talk, still. She needs to open herself to him. He needs to know. Why now, when she has turned him away for so long? Why now, when she told him a few months ago that there was a wall in the way?

But the alarm echoes into the room again, and she sighs instead of speaking, pulling back so he'll loosen his grip.

He releases her with a final brush of his lips against her forehead, a parting reminder of his affection.

When she swings her legs over the edge of the bed, Minnie is waiting, head tilted quizzically. The detective feels a flush of embarrassment rising in her cheeks, especially when Castles bare chest brushes her arm as he slides out of bed.

"Kate?" he calls, turning when he's already two steps away and she hasn't yet moved from the bed. "What's wrong?"

He laughs, and she looks up to see his eyes trained on the kitten.

"At least it wasn't Alexis coming in here," he says, and she knows he's got her pegged, as usual. He knows her far too well.

She buries her head in her hands, and he's immediately at her side. But when she lifts her face to him, his concern melts away upon seeing her laughter.

"It's just awkward," she says, shaking her head. "I mean, it's fine. It just caught me off guard. Is nothing sacred?"

He skims his hand over her back.

"If it makes you feel any better, there was this girl that I dated in college who had a dog, who had a bad habit of interrupting, ah, intimate moments," he offers.

She shakes her head.

"And how is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Castle grins, that impish smile that she loves, that she will never, never admit to loving.

"He was, shall we say, very friendly and enthusiastic. Always wanted to be the center of attention. And I do mean always."

Her imagination is a little too vivid, especially after spending so much time with the man beside her. She can't stifle the laughter, but he's grinning next to her.

"So you know, at least Minnie had the decency to disappear as best she could," he points out. "It's not her fault she was trapped in here."

She turns to him and smiles, then leans over to scoop up the kitten, who immediately begins purring. The writer runs a hand softly over the little thing's back, and she realizes that it was this - this gentle, protective, tender side of him - that finally got to her. That broke down the wall, or built a door, or put up a ladder, or dug a hole.

Without a detectable plan, he's managed to do what no man has ever done - reach her heart.

She sinks into his side as his arm wraps around her.

"C'mon," he whispers, his breath hot on her ear. "As much as I would love to stay right here with you all day, we've got a case to solve."

She nods and stands, extending a hand to pull him up with her.

This time, when they end up chest to chest, there's no awkwardness of boundaries nearly crossed, just a heat that blooms in her belly, a desperate wish that she had today off.

He clears his throat and squeezes her hand.

"Use my shower," he commands gently. "I'll make us some coffee and some breakfast. Any requests?"

She shakes her head.

"Whatever you feel like making," she says, already heading toward his bathroom. "Thanks."

She doesn't have to see him to know that he's watching her go. And she really wishes he would follow.

"One s'morelet coming right up."

The detective turns on her heel.

"One what?"

He grins.

"S'morelet," he repeats. "A delicacy that will delight and mystify your tastebuds, my dear detective."

She stalks back toward him and his grin drops.

"What?" he asks defensively. "It'll be delicious. You'll love it."

She shakes her head, but he continues to plead the case for his favorite breakfast concoction.

"Just try it, please," he pleads. "You didn't like the idea of me at first either, and look where we are now."

Oh, that's low. And sort of pathetic. But she can't help but smile at him.

"Are you comparing yourself to some kind of crazy breakfast food you've created?"

He shrugs.

"It's eggs - good. Chocolate - also good. Marshmallows - very good. And graham crackers - eh, but they complete it. Non-conventional, perhaps, but something that must be experienced."

That truly sounds disgusting, but he just looks so excited, standing there in his sleep pants and the white shirt that he (unfortunately, in her opinion) just slipped back over his upper body.

"Fine," she says, after a moment. "Make your s'morelet and I'll give it a try. But maybe you could fix some toast or something too? Just in case."

He nods, his eyes soft. Something about her acquiescence to his idea has given him this look that just melts her. She steps closer and pushes up on her toes to press her mouth to his, dropping back to the flats of her feet before either of them can get carried away.

"Go," she tells him, patting his hip. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

She can feel his eyes on her as she crosses the room and she pauses in the doorway of the en suite to look back at him.

Oh, she's never going to get used to the way he looks at her like she's the most important thing in the world, like she's the most beautiful creature he's ever seen.

"Go," she repeats, but there's no annoyance in her voice, no frustration. No telling him he's creepy for the way he stares at her. "Take Minnie with you. Otherwise she'll try to sneak into the shower with me."

He laughs, eyes darkening and glittering with mischief and what looks a lot like lust.

"Can't blame her for that."


	15. Chapter 15

She doesn't linger in the shower.

Hair still damp, Kate gathers her dirty clothes and stuffs them back into her overnight bag after applying light makeup. She didn't get enough sleep last night and she hasn't had her coffee, and yet she feels more awake than she has for a very long time.

He's standing at the stove when she crosses into the kitchen, his back to her as he hums a song she thinks she might recognize. He hasn't noticed her yet. His baritone reverberates through the open space and she pauses, taking in the scene before her.

The writer is still barefoot, toes curling against the tile as he shifts back and forth and taps his thigh with one hand, keeping the beat. His hair is rumpled from sleep. And probably from her hands running through it too, she realizes with a little jolt of arousal.

His free hand hovers over a pan of what looks like a standard omelet. But she can tell by the wafting fragrance of chocolate in the air that it's not. He's actually making her his monstrosity of a breakfast creation. And she'll have to at least sample it. Because she loves him.

Great.

"Just gonna stand there all morning?" he asks without turning to face her.

She wonders what it is that allows him to sense her presence. Her shoes remain by the front door and her current outfit doesn't swish when she walks. She hasn't said a word, nor are there any reflective surfaces in his line of sight that would allow him to pinpoint her location.

"It's your scent, Kate," he says when she doesn't move from her vantage point. "I can always tell when you're in the room."

Now he can read her mind too? Well, to be fair, they've always had a bit of a mental telepathy thing going on. Lanie and the boys aren't the only one who've noticed. Still, wouldn't it be nice to keep a little mystery?

He turns, his grin immediately erasing any annoyance, and to be honest, all other thoughts in general.

"The pot should be done brewing. Fixed you a mug, so you just need to add the coffee."

She laughs when she sees the pair of mugs on the counter. He's given her two options, and when she looks back at him, he's smirking.

"I'll leave the Shakespearian insults to you," she decides, stepping over and pulling out the carafe to pour a stream of dark liquid into her mug.

He shrugs.

"Fair enough. You like yours?"

She brings the mug to her lips, but it's just a bit too hot so she sets it down on the counter again. The white pistol grip is unfamiliar of course, differently shaped than her standard Glock. But it's exactly the kind of mug she would expect Richard Castle to own.

"How long have you been waiting to show me this?"

His smirk breaks into a bright smile that crinkles his eyes.

"Ages. One of my readers sent it to me."

She lifts an eyebrow.

"They send you things?"

He shrugs again. He's famous, though she often forgets it, and there are certainly people out there whose lives he has touched through his writing. She doesn't think he's ever seen her signed copy of one of his early books, and she never would have sent him a letter, much less a gift, but still, some reach out.

"Black Pawn gets my fan mail. There's a form letter that gets sent out in return. But sometimes they forward mail to me, personal stories they think I'd like to hear, or funny gifts people send."

He pauses, lifting the mug to examine it.

"The mug actually came from an older woman who saw me in a coffee shop one day. She was too shy to say hello, and apparently I looked like I was in a hurry, but she sent me this. They send you things too, you know."

The detective takes a step back.

"Me?" she asks incredulously. "Why would your fans send things to me?"

He waves off her doubt.

"You're not exactly famous, but I've named you and the rest of the team in my acknowledgements. So, people know who you are. Not to mention the launch you came to a couple years ago. And the Cosmo article."

He's right, of course, and she's aware that being Richard Castle's muse, while it doesn't make her a public figure, does expose her more often than she realizes, more often than she might like. But such is life, right? Might as well have a little fun with it.

"So what you're saying is that you've been keeping gifts from me?"

She arches an eyebrow at him and he splutters, the coffee he just sipped dribbling down his chin. She lifts her hand and swipes her thumb across his skin. When she brings her hand up to her lips to lick away the remnants, he nearly chokes. She just watches him.

"I'll, uh," he starts, stops when he sees the way her tongue still swirls around her thumb, catching every last drop of coffee. "I'll have someone from Black Pawn bring over anything that they might have for you."

She nods her agreement, stepping deeper into his personal space so she can see what's going on in the pan on the stove.

"That would be good," she tells him. "Now I believe you promised me breakfast, such as it may be."

Oh, he lights up in that little boy way he has about him sometimes. She loves that, she really does.

"Could you bring a couple of plates from the cabinet there behind you?" he asks, pointing over her shoulder. "And the toast should be popping up too."

She follows his instructions, procuring the two plates and grabbing the toast as soon as it's done. When she turns back to him, he's got a spatula in the pan, lifting up on the edges of the egg concoction. It's oozing chocolate. And marshmallow. What has she gotten herself into this time?

But he's fairly quivering with excitement, so she can't exactly shut him down now, can she? She remembers making more than one "creative" breakfast for her parents when she was growing up, and they always accepted the offering with grace. So she'll have to do the same.

Of course, she was maybe eight years old the last time she did that, and she was adorable. Castle is definitely not eight years old. Unfortunately, in this case, she does find him rather adorable, so...

He slides the s'morelet, as he's apparently named it, onto one of the plates she set on the counter, using a knife to cut right down the middle, dividing the thing in two. He sets one half on the second plate, presenting it to her with a flourish.

"Prepare to be amazed, my dear detective."

She looks down at her plate. Oh well, if it kills her, at least he knows how she feels now.

He nudges her with his elbow and she glances up to find him smiling affectionately, tilting his head toward the bar.

She takes her breakfast and coffee and follows him as he sets his down on the countertop before slipping away again to pull butter and jam and orange juice out of the refrigerator.

"Really, Kate," he says, leaning down to brush his lips across her hair as he sidles up next to her. "You don't have to eat it if you don't want to. I can make you something else. Or there's cereal."

He must have seen the look of trepidation that she couldn't quite disguise. And she appreciates how considerate he is. But she told him she'd try it and she will, so she shakes her head.

"This will be fine, Castle."

He plops into the chair next to her, his left hand finding a home on her thigh and squeezing briefly before simply resting there as he sips his coffee.

She takes a deep breath, cuts a piece of the s'morelet, and steels herself, prepared for the worst. He's watching her carefully.

But when she finally takes a bite, it's actually not that bad. Her mom used to make scrambled eggs and chocolate chip pancakes, and this sort of reminds her of when she'd end up with a little bit of both on the fork. She chews thoughtfully.

"And?" he asks, tightening his hand gently on her leg. "What's the verdict?"

She swallows the bite in her mouth and turns to face him.

"Interesting texture," she says first and he grimaces, probably because he thinks she's saying nicely that it feels weird in her mouth.

She bumps her knee against his.

"Salty, from the egg, of course. Sweet, from the marshmallow and the chocolate. I see what you mean about the graham crackers."

He nods. She purposely hasn't said whether she likes it. It is fun to watch him squirm sometimes. Oh, but he just looks so hopeful.

"I like it, Castle," she says, chuckling as he pumps a fist into the air in triumph. "I mean, I don't know that you've got the next big food trend here. I don't think it'll compete with chicken and waffles, but it's not half bad."

She might have just given him a puppy, for all he's grinning. And she really is being honest with him. It isn't bad, despite her preconceptions.

Not that she'd let him make it for their kids everyday or anything like that. Too much sugar. But. Wait, their kids?

Suddenly she's bombarded by images of a little boy with her dark hair and Castle's enthusiasm and tendency to ask too many questions. She can't help picturing a little girl, quiet and mischievous, with bright blue eyes that see everything.

Her heart pounds hard in her chest and she has to set down her fork, take a long drink of coffee to calm herself. The writer has gone silent beside her, and when she looks up, oh, he knows. He knows exactly what she's thinking. Somehow he can tell.

"Whatever you want, Kate," he says softly, thumb running patterns along the inside of her thigh, sending flutters into her stomach and tingles all the way down to her toes. "It's yours. Whatever you want."

She wants kids. She knew that already. Despite her unpredictable, dangerous job, she's always wanted kids. She's just never been struck by this deep longing, by these clear images of what it could be like to have children. With Castle. No one else.

The detective nods in answer to his promise, presses her hand over his on her thigh, wrapping her fingers around his.

This is it for her, she realizes. It's been less than twelve hours (though really it's building for years), but she's certain. And maybe this is part of the reason she shied away for so long, why she was terrified of letting him in. Because she knew: once she did, that would be it. If Richard Castle got a hold on her, he'd never let go.

She leaves her hand covering his, picking up her fork again with the other and resuming her meal. He does the same, flipping his palm so he can tangle their fingers. They eat the rest of the meal in weighty silence.

Until a certain redhead comes wandering down the stairs. The girl yawns, rubbing her eyes. It's half past eight, and she knows from the few days she spent here after her apartment blew up that Alexis is an early riser. Still, they all had a late night, and she wouldn't be surprised if the young woman was on the phone with Drew until the wee hours.

"Morning, Dad, Kate."

Castle snags her elbow as she passes and pulls her over into a one-armed hug, his other hand not releasing Kate's.

"Good morning, pumpkin. How'd you sleep?"

The girl shrugs.

"Not long enough. But I've got nothing going on today, so I can sleep later if I want. Just thought I'd try to catch you two before you left for the day."

The detective's heart swells at being included in the statement. Whatever tension existed after the summer, whatever it was that caused the girl to lash out at her in front of the bank, it seems to have resolved itself now. And she's so grateful for that. Alexis has been Rick Castle's whole world for seventeen years, and if Kate is going to somehow fit into Castle's life, more than just at the precinct, she'll have to fit in with Alexis too.

Speaking of his daughter, she's now looking rather pointedly at their joined hands. Kate blushes, but doesn't pull away. And neither does Castle, who seems to be fairly oblivious, actually. Well, maybe not totally oblivious, she realizes when he squeezes her hand, his eyes on Alexis.

The girl says nothing, but does give her a subtle nod as she continues to speak with her father.

"Wait a second," the redhead exclaims, jolting the detective from her thoughts about dating a man with a teenage daughter. "Are you feeding her a s'morelet?"

Oh, is this their thing? Some breakfast tradition the two have shared? Is she infringing?

"Dad, I thought you liked her."

Well, maybe not then. Maybe Alexis is just looking out for her. She laughs.

"It's actually not that bad. A little different, but tasty in its own way."

Castle beams at her.

"Oh, now I know you two are meant for each other."

Both adults look up at the girl simultaneously while the young woman flushes a bright red and claps a hand over her wayward mouth.

"I didn't...I mean, if you're not...I just," she stutters. "Sorry. But, well, you are holding hands."

Kate purses her lips to hold in a smile at the girl's uncharacteristic stumbling. She looks to her partner for affirmation, and he shrugs his shoulders lightly.

"It's fine, Alexis," she assures the girl. "And yeah."

That's all she has to say.

Alexis looks to her father, and he nods, his clear blue eyes focused on hers. There's a silent exchange she can't quite grasp, but whatever the two said, it seems she's passed some kind of test, because Alexis reaches out to grasp Kate's free hand.

She tries not to show her surprise. Though the girl had come to her for advice previously, there's never been much familiarity between them. So this is new.

"Take care of him," the girl says solemnly. "Please."

The detective nods, the seriousness of the request evident in the way the girl is looking at her, clear in the way her partner's grip has tightened.

"I will do my very best," she tells Alexis, tells both of them. "I give you my word that I will do my very best."

She won't vow that nothing will happen to him. Life is uncertain, and more so for a cop, or someone who follows cops around on a daily basis. Anything could happen out there, and they all know it.

But she can promise to try. She can promise to give everything if it means getting this man home safely every night.

That seems to be enough for the girl, because she nods and turns away, heading to the cabinet for a packet of oatmeal and the fridge for the carton of milk. Kate watches her for a moment, wondering what exactly has just transpired. But then Castle is pressing his knee into hers, squeezing her hand, and she turns her attention back to the man at her side.

The man who is gazing at her with such tenderness and longing.

"Thank you," he mouths, and she nods, leaning in to rest against him, her mouth close to his ear.

"If I said 'always,' would it be too cliché?" she whispers.

He shakes his head, turning just enough to brush his lips against the corner of her mouth. She closes her eyes at the soft touch of his mouth, at the way his stubble grazes her cheek.

"Always, then, Castle," she says quietly.

She feels his smile against her face and he bumps his temple gently against hers before he turns back to his breakfast.

"S'morelet's getting cold," he tells her. "Better eat up. You'll need your strength."

He could be referring to the long day of crime solving they have ahead of them. But she's pretty certain by the leer on his face that he's not. She shakes her head, kicks him lightly in the shin and digs into her s'morelet once more. She could see this being a pregnancy craving. Oh, there she goes again. Less than a day, Kate, really.

But when she glances at him and he winks at her, she truly hopes the day will come when she can share that with him. She's already seen him with an adorable kitten. She's not even sure she could handle the sight of him holding a baby - their baby - his devotion written all over his face.

"One day at a time," he murmurs.

Oh, she's got to retrain her face if he can read her that easily now. What is it about being in love with him that makes her so guileless?

"Where's Minnie?" Alexis asks, drawing her out of her thoughts.

Kate realizes that she hasn't seen the kitten since she emerged from the shower. That's not good. She looks to Castle, but he just shrugs.

"I'm sure she's fine. How much trouble could a cat that size cause?"


	16. Chapter 16

The first thing she notices when she enters Castle's office on her way back from grabbing her bag from the bedroom is the kitten curled up on his desk. That's good. At least she won't have to hunt for the little thing when they leave.

Minnie is still tiny, though Kate can see how much she's grown in the past few weeks. Especially when she stretches out the way she is now. The detective had always thought of cats curling into balls to sleep, but since she found the kitten at the crime scene, she's realized that's actually not the reality most of the time. At least not with her Minerva.

Sometimes the little creature sprawls out on her back, back legs akimbo, soft belly just begging to be rubbed and kissed and nuzzled. Other times she's twisted, back legs pointing one direction, front legs going the opposite way. A few times, the detective has found her in what she thinks of as the sphinx pose.

But now she's in her favorite position, paws stretched down and to one side, little face braced on a raised surface. She gravitates toward warmth, most of the time. The detective's leg or tucked foot if they're sitting on the couch. Sometimes Kate's laptop or phone if she happens to leave one or the other lying around with the power on. Castle's hand too, that evening at her apartment.

She wonders which one of the writer's toys the kitten will have chosen as a headrest this time, especially since his own laptop seems to be absent at the moment.

The detective still remembers the first time she stepped into his office. She'd called it the Batcave. And even now, three years later, she still has a flutter of awe at knowing she's standing in the room where he outlines his books.

She's the author's biggest fan, even if he isn't completely aware of that fact.

But more than that, she loves the man behind the books. The man who welcomed her into his home three years ago wearing fancy laser tag gear, caught in the middle of an epic war with his teenage daughter. She knew then that he wasn't who she'd seen at first.

That cocky playboy who she'd imagined spent every evening in the company of a different woman doesn't really exist. Even then, Castle could more likely be found at home, writing or hanging out with Alexis.

She shakes her head as she recalls that first venture into his world. Not the world of press events and lavish parties, but the world of home-cooked dinners and gentle parenting and laughter.

The detective leans over to brush her fingers against the kitten's ears, intending to pick her up and remove her from the writer's office. But Minnie startles at the touch, little head flinching backward to bounce against the small remote on which she'd been sleeping.

Castle's storyboard flickers to life in front of her and Kate can't repress the flare of curiosity that rises when given the opportunity to get a glimpse of his next masterpiece.

That too, is a memory from her first entry into his inner sanctum - finding her picture on his storyboard, labeling her literary alter ego as Nikki Heat.

Except the photo this time isn't labeled with Nikki's name. It clearly reads Kate BECKETT.

She steps closer, hesitates. She really shouldn't. This is his book, and she knows that in some ways, it's his gift to her. She might even go so far as to call it his love letter. She read the acknowledgments. She knows exactly what he was doing, repeating her own phrase back to her. So she should leave it alone. Wait for him to present it to her when he's ready.

But oh, she wants to know. She needs to know. Heat Rises left her feeling hollowed out, shaken by the literary turn of events that so closely mirrored and yet simultaneously distorted their reality.

Her hand hovers for a moment over her picture on the screen.

But when her finger finally presses down, what appears is not a book outline. There is no fictional murder, no known villain who connects to the victim through trace evidence, no relationship development mapped out for Nikki and Rook.

Her heart thuds dully within her chest. Her own face confronts her, flanked on the left by her mother's, on the right by that of her mentor. Beneath them, the other players in this scheme: Pulgatti, Armen, McAllister, Raglan, and Lockwood.

Under each photo she reads facts and questions. Under Montgomery - killed Lockwood and was killed by Lockwood; what did he know about who hired Coonan + Lockwood? Under Raglan - Who ordered the hit? Under her own smiling face - Who hired the sniper?

A cold fist of dread squeezes around her heart. He's been investigating this? On his own? Without telling her?

She stands stock still in stunned silence, the red DECEASED stamps on all but two of the pictures haunting her.

"Kate?" his voice echoes into the office. "You almost ready? We can just leave Minnie here for now if you can't find her. She'll be fine."

She doesn't answer him, just stares at the board.

"Kate?"

His voice is getting nearer, but she can't move. Can't hit the button to turn off the board and clear these images from her mind.

She hears his footsteps, and then they halt, abruptly. There's a moment of quiet, and then he speaks again, faintly.

"Kate..."

He's coming up behind her, she realizes that much. But for what? To offer an explanation for why his storyboard holds the details of a real case - her case? To apologize for yet again going behind her back? To defend the hypocrisy of pushing her to lay the case aside, only to continue working on it himself?

Whatever it is that he's going to say, she can't handle it right now.

He gets close enough to touch her shoulder, but she shrugs him off, whirling to face him. He flinches and takes a step backward.

His mouth opens to speak but she shakes her head. Instead, she leans over to gather Minnie into one arm and brushes past him, out of the office.

It takes him a moment, but then he's on her heels, begging her to stay and let him explain, to stay and listen to his reasons, to stay and give him a chance.

But she can't. Tears have already formed in her eyes, and if she doesn't get out of there this instant, she's going to lose it. She's going to fall apart completely.

She's at the front door by the time she even pauses, sliding back into her heels and pulling the pet carrier around next to her. Castle flickers in and out her eyeline, pacing. He's saying something but there's a rushing noise in her ears and she really cannot hear a thing.

As soon as she's got the little metal door open though, Minnie (who has been relatively still and quiet for the past minute) decides she doesn't want to go.

The kitten growls. And hisses. And meows. Pathetically.

But Kate is determined to get the creature into the cage and get going.

Minerva will have none of it. She lets out a wailing screech and climbs Kate's arms, strong back legs kicking into the detectives hands. Claws rip through the skin, draw blood, and just as the detective lets out a pain-induced expletive, Minnie manages her escape, racing out of the entryway to God-knows-where.

Castle drops to his knees beside her, reaching out to take her injured hands.

"Kate," he whispers. "Let me see."

She wants to, so badly. Wants to let him bandage her wounds. Wants to let him take care of her. But then she remembers the faces on his storyboard, the guilt in his eyes when they met briefly as she stalked out of his office. And she can't. Can't do it.

She pulls her hands out of his reach, drawing them into her chest.

"Not," she says, inhaling deeply to clear her head. "Not now."

His face drops at the same time his hands do, falling away from her.

"I need to go. I'll get Minnie later."

He's still on his knees as she stands, his eyes pleading with her. But she needs to, oh god, and that's her mother on his murder board. That's her captain, her friend.

She stumbles toward the door, the tears springing to her eyes as she wrenches it open.

But instead of the empty hallway she expects, instead of the unimpeded dash to the stairs that she hopes for, Martha is standing in the doorway, keys in hand.

"Kate, darling!" she greets enthusiastically.

But as soon as the words are out, Martha looks, truly looks at her.

Instead of happy to see her, the older woman seems confused. Confused and concerned. And why wouldn't she be? Kate stands before her, moisture brimming in her eyes and blood already coagulating on her hands. Behind the detective, she hasn't heard any movement from Castle. He's still on his knees.

The detective wants to leave already and she steps into the hallway, a quick nod her only greeting. But before she can get on her way, iron fingers clasp around her upper arm, a grip much stronger than she would have expected from the older woman. Martha drags her back.

"Martha, I need to-"

"No."

The word is firm, resolute, and leaves no room for argument, especially with the door shutting behind them.

The usually genial woman pulls her across the apartment, leading her until they stand in the guest bathroom, in the same place where she and Castle had that charged moment last night.

Castle... Just the thought of him brings a wave of grief. Her heart constricts and her throat burns and she's certain she's going to throw up her coffee and toast and s'morelet.

How could he do this to her? She closes her eyes and sees the anguish on his face when she turned to find him standing behind her in the office, knows his expression must have matched her own.

"Dear heart?" Martha's voice, though soft, startles her. She'd forgotten where she was standing. Was, because it seems the older woman has gently pushed her to sit on the closed toilet lid and is now crouching before her, a towel and small basin on the floor at her feet.

The detective starts to get up, but Martha's hand on her knee keeps her from leaving.

"Sit," the actress says quietly. "You're not going anywhere. You're in no fit shape to drive, and any taxi driver would think you'd just killed a man with all that blood on your hands. Although, from the looks of it, maybe you should have."

Martha reaches up to grasp one of Kate's hands, tugging it forward even as her other hand slips down to dip the towel into the basin. Her touches are light, but present, as she wipes away the drying blood on the detective's hands, revealing deep scratches that are already a raised and puffy pink.

This is the mother, the woman who must have struggled as a single mom to balance her life on the stage with her life with her son, patching skinned knees and speaking words of comfort to a young Richard.

The detective recalls her own childhood scrapes. Katie Beckett was all girl, but never afraid of the rough and tumble, and she remembers the many times she sat in nearly this exact position with her own mother while Johanna tended to her daughter.

Oh, Mom...

The tears she's been stubbornly holding back come rushing forth, hurrying down her cheeks in hot streams. Martha holds both of her hands, so she can't even stop the flow. She shuts her eyes, but it does no good.

And then she's folded into a perfumed embrace, a mother's embrace, and it's been so long.

She's sobbing. She's sobbing and there's nothing she can do about it, no way she can still the rocking of her body.

But Martha holds on tightly, and eventually the detective hears the words murmured into her ear. The actress speaks peace, but doesn't make false promises, never says that everything will be okay.

Because will it? Will everything ever truly be okay? After last night and this morning, she'd started to think...but no. Maybe this is her fate - betrayal or abandonment by the ones she loves.

"Alexis texted me," the older woman is saying now. "Surprised, but happy enough. That's why I'm home now. I had to see for myself."

Kate hears the words, but it's as if the actress is speaking a foreign language.

"He loves you," she's saying. "Whatever my son has done - and I have no doubt you have every reason to be upset with him - you need to know that. He loves you more than anyone else in the world, except for his daughter. He would do anything to see you happy."

There's a thud outside the room, and a strangled sound, and she can picture him, perhaps leaning his head against the bathroom door, perhaps slumped over on the floor against the wall.

Regardless of his position, she knows he's there.


	17. Chapter 17

She hears the distant trill of a phone, but it's not her ringtone.

A daughter's young voice, muffled through the door, echoes in the hallway, calling for her father.

She hears him grunt, getting to his feet maybe. And then he walks away.

"Now that my son isn't hovering," Martha says, pausing in her ministrations to catch the detective's red-rimmed eyes, "why don't you tell me what happened? Last I heard from Alexis, you all were eating breakfast and enjoying each other's company. She said you even liked his abomination of a s'morelet."

Kate lets out a choked attempt at a chuckle.

"It was better than I expected."

The older woman tilts her head, and the detective gets that sudden sense that she has sometimes with Castle - that her insides are suddenly available for examination. He'd joked that his family boasted a legacy of mind-readers. And maybe he wasn't kidding.

"So what happened, darling? Between the s'morelet and my finding you bloodied and rushing out the door?"

She laughs, more than a little bitterness seeping into the sound.

"Minnie happened," she says, nodding toward her partially bandaged hands. "I tried to get her into the carrier and she made it abundantly clear that she didn't want to go."

Martha shakes her head.

"Be that as it may - and it does look terribly painful - that doesn't explain the hurry. Or the look of desolation on Richard's face when I came in."

She closes her eyes. She doesn't want to have this conversation. Especially not with his mother. But Martha is blocking the path out, and in any case, the actress is halfway through wrapping gauze around the younger woman's hands to cover the antibiotic cream.

"He's been investigating my shooting," she says quietly, opening her eyes to gauge the woman's reaction.

Martha nods. She knew then. Did Alexis know as well? Do Esposito and Ryan know?

"He has."

There's no judgment in the acknowledgment, no admission that her son was wrong for what he's done, nor suggestion that the detective was wrong in how she reacted. Just a stating of fact.

"He asked me to stop, months ago. And I did."

She can detect the hint of petulance in her own voice and she hates it. But this is what her mother's case does to her. What her own case does to her. It sets her back to a broken nineteen.

It removes her self-assurance, her rationality, the professional detachment she's gained over her years on the force. It makes her leap to conclusions and lash out at the wrong people. She knows that. And she's been working on it.

"Did he tell you why?" Martha asks.

Why what? Why did he make her stop? She thinks it was because she was spiraling out of control, running herself into the ground. Or why did he continue to investigate? That she doesn't know, not for sure.

He loves her. She is certain of that. She doesn't doubt that. But why keep looking when he himself begged her to let it go?

She shakes her head.

"Oh, honey."

Martha reaches up, and the detective startles. She's not used to this, not anymore. But the older woman ignores the flinch and thumbs away a dab of mascara smeared across Kate's cheek.

His whole family is affectionate. They hug and they touch and they speak encouraging words and they're kind to each other in a way that so few families are these days.

Martha, of course, is particularly effusive. It must be the actress in her. And really, it makes sense. The theatre veteran has made her living with movement and voice and action.

Her son, on the other hand, deals in subtext. Everything he does, at least as it concerns Kate Beckett, has meaning and layers. And when she thinks about it, these most recent demonstrations - his words, his kisses, his touches - are only the most blatant in the long line of ways he's showed her over the past three years just how much he cares about her.

He started by learning her coffee order.

"He's tried to keep us out of it - Alexis and me - but we were here when..." the older woman trails off, shaking her head. "It's not mine to explain, dear one. But he's not trying to be a hero. I can promise you that much."

She's not sure what the woman means. Her head feels clogged, weighted, foggy, the beginnings of a headache blooming behind her eyes.

"I know he did this before," Martha says, and it's all Kate can do to follow the woman's words. "He wanted to be the one to solve your mother's case. To be the one to give you justice and closure."

The detective nods. She remembers. It was less that he had looked into the case and more the way he had done it. The reasons and motives behind his meddling. But when he had apologized, she'd forgiven him, taken him back.

"It's not like that this time," Martha tells her, tucking the last edge of the gauze in tightly. "It's not about him coming out on top, darling. It isn't really even about justice, not anymore."

Kate shakes her head, eyes falling shut at the sloshy feeling that always comes when she drinks too much or cries too hard.

If not justice, then what? Revenge?

She doesn't want him going down that path. Not for her. Not for Montgomery or her mother. It's a slippery slope, and she knows exactly where it leads because she's been there - on a beach under a pier, a second away from pulling the trigger, held back only by a good man's gentle voice.

"What then?" she asks pleadingly. "Why would he hide this from me? Especially now?"

The actress stands, picking up the supplies and returning them to the cabinet, lifting the basin of lukewarm water and emptying it into the sink. The detective watches as it drains, pink-tinged.

When she looks up, Martha is studying her carefully.

"To protect you."

Part of her - the fiercely independent, somewhat reckless part of her - wants to scoff. As if she needs his protection. She can take care of herself.

But then she flashes back to the blue of the freezer and the arms that staved off hypothermia. To the warm brown coat wrapped around her as she hobbled out of her burning apartment. To the scarlet abrasions on the bare hands of the man who tackled her would-be assassin and beat him senseless.

And she realizes: she can't do this on her own. She doesn't want to do this on her own.

"Kate," Martha says, and the detective thinks it might be the first time she's heard her name from the woman's lips without some term of endearment attached. "Please listen to him."

The actress lifts her hand, but then hesitates.

"I just..." she begins softly, fingers rising to lightly curl around Kate's shoulder. "If not for his sake or your own, then for us - for Alexis and for me."

What? The detective furrows her eyebrows and Martha finishes the thought.

"If he loses you to this, to the person who tried to kill you," she murmurs. "We will lose him."


	18. Chapter 18

She's grateful to Martha for patching her up. She's more grateful when the older woman leaves her to her thoughts, perilous as they may be.

Castle hasn't yet returned to his position outside the door, and the detective considers just making a run for it, but she's not...that is, she can't...she can't leave him like this.

Because as upset as she may be with him, she loves him too. And Martha's parting words before she stepped out of the confining walls of the guest bathroom still echo in her ears, still eat away at her fury.

That's enough to keep her there.

So she closes the door, sits back on the lid of the toilet, and waits. He'll come to her. He always comes to her. And she's thankful for that, because she honestly doesn't know how to approach him right now.

She's angry, and hurt, and altogether bewildered. And she's not sure how much of the rage part of it is directed at him for hiding this from her and how much of it is directed at herself for making him feel he had to do so.

She knows there's something Martha wasn't telling her, some additional secret beyond the fact that Castle has continued the investigation. She just can't figure out what it might be.

He looked so shaken when she turned away from his murderboard to find him standing behind her. It had to be more than just the possibility of her anger that put that terrified look on his face.

It's not like she's never been upset with him. Hell, had she left, it wouldn't have been the first time she'd forced distance between them over her mother's case. But somehow they've always gravitated back together, like a pair of magnets.

And this time wouldn't have been any different. She's resigned herself to the fact that she's stuck with him. Well, not stuck. She's in love with the man. And he has to know that if she could forgive Captain Montgomery, she will surely forgive him.

So it must be something else.

But what?

There's a noise at the door, a scratching, and then a plaintive mew. Minnie has a thing about closed doors. She wants to be on the other side of them. Even bathroom doors. Especially bathroom doors. Really, she has no sense of propriety.

Kate thinks about ignoring her. It would serve the little thing right for shredding the hands that feed her, so to speak. But then the detective remembers that _she_ is the one with higher brain function.

And really, would it hurt to have a little company, even of the feline variety, while she tries to figure out how to handle the situation with Castle and the investigation? Actually, it might even help. Holding Minnie (when the kitten isn't desperate to escape) is soothing, and goodness knows she could use a little peace right now.

She stands from her seat and takes the half-step to reach the door, turning the knob.

But Minnie isn't the only one waiting for her.

She hadn't heard him come back, but there's Castle, cradling the kitten in his arms, the little creature much calmer now than she was a bit ago. And really, what is she supposed to do with both of them staring at her with wide repentant eyes?

Yeah, not much she can do.

"Minnie wanted to apologize for hurting you," he says softly, his voice hitching as he speaks. "And so do I. I think both of us just got...scared."

Kate leans forward, close enough to lift her hand and drag her fingernails lightly across the kitten's exposed belly. Minnie gives her a long, slow blink.

"She didn't want to leave," the detective says, her gaze remaining fixed on the small, gray form. "She likes it here."

His breath quickens, and when she looks up to find his eyes intently focused on her face, she's never been so glad that he has a tendency to read between the lines.

"I like having her here," he whispers.

There's a moment's pause in which writer and detective just watch each other, and then he lurches unsteadily forward, hooking his elbow around her neck and pulling her into his chest, his other hand slowly dropping to allow Minnie to slide down his leg onto the floor.

"Kate..." he sighs into her ear, a ragged puff against her skin.

Her hands rise automatically to wrap around him, to bunch his shirt into her fists at his back. She presses herself into him, unable to stay away, even in her anger, even in her hurt.

"I'm sorry," he's chanting breathlessly. "I'm so sorry."

Hot tears burn in her eyes, but she chokes them back.

She holds onto him, her anchor in this tide of shared grief and sorrow. They've both made mistakes and they'll both have to bear the consequences.

"I had to stand here," he growls. "I had to stand here and listen to you sobbing on the other side of that door. I had to stand here and know that I was the reason you were crying. I had to stand here and know that there was _nothing_ I could do to fix this."

The anguish in his voice pulls something free within her and then his shirt is damp beneath her cheek, moistened by her salty tears.

His arms tighten around her as he stumbles backward into the wall, tugging her with him. He needs the brace, she knows - the flat surface the only thing that can hold him up in this moment.

"Tell me, Castle," she grinds out. "Tell me why my mother's case, why my case is on your story board."

She has to know. Has to hear him say that he's been investigating it and why. She needs to understand.

His grip on her softens but he doesn't let go, and she's grateful for that. This is progress, for both of them. She didn't walk out (though a small animal and a formidable woman had something to do with that as well), and he's not letting her go without a fight.

"I've been investigating," he says quietly, his words muffled in her hair. "After I asked you to back off, I kept looking into it."

She sighs. She already knew, but somehow this makes it real. Before he said the words, maybe she could have believed that the pictures and information on the board were mere remnants of the summer - the summer she abandoned him to his grief and his guilt - that he hasn't been at it this whole time. But he has.

"Why?" she asks. "Why did you try so hard to convince me to lay it aside, if you were going to keep working on it?"

His broad hands slide up from her back, one to her neck, one to her shoulder, and he pulls her out from his body until she stands in front of him, head tilted up to meet his eyes. Somewhere in the turmoil of the past half hour, her shoes have been discarded and she's a few inches shorter than he is.

"I love you," he murmurs, the hand at her neck sliding around to cup the back of her skull, thumb rubbing at the skin behind her ear. "Please tell me you know that."

She nods, her fingers loosening around the fabric of his shirt, flattening against his back. She's not sure if his declaration is an answer to her question of why or simply a prelude to what he needs to say, but she won't let it go unacknowledged.

"I do know that, Rick," she whispers, her voice breaking on his rarely used first name. "I'm just not sure if that makes it better or worse."

He closes his eyes, drops his forehead to rest against hers.

"Better, Kate," he sighs, and she can hear the burden in his answer. "Please, let it make this better."

He doesn't wait for her answer, just pushes off from the wall, hand dropping from her neck to reach for hers, to lace their fingers.

"Come with me."

She knows where he's taking her, can hear the resignation and determination and sheer purpose braided in his voice. He may have hidden this from her before, but now that she knows the barest of details, she knows he's going to tell her everything.

It's her own confession all over again. She admitted she'd heard him in the cemetery, told him she loves him too - and then couldn't stop telling him.

He tugs on her hand and doesn't release her, leads her to his office where the storyboard is still lit up, familiar faces still haunting the room.

The door shuts behind them with a click, giving them a modicum of privacy, though the open shelves really kind of make it a moot point. Of course, his mother and daughter seem to have disappeared anyway.

When they arrive at his desk, he draws her to stand in front of him, pulls her back against his chest. And she sinks into him, lets him surround her, lets him brace her for what's to come.

His voice is rich and deep and familiar in her ear as he begins to speak, but it's also different somehow, like something has shifted for him. He's telling her a story, but it's not with his usual intonation, not with the quantity and variety of words he uses to describe a scene or spin a theory.

He keeps this simple.

"A man called me, right after you came back to the precinct."


	19. Chapter 19

There are no adjectives in his story.

No adverbs either.

No description of any kind. Just a long line of nouns and verbs that leave her feeling.

What? Feeling what? She's not even sure.

Shaken? Absolutely. Angry? Of course. Wounded? Terribly.

But safe? Oddly, yes. Though that may have more to do with the strength of his arms wrapped around her waist than with the words spoken into her ear.

He hasn't made much progress beyond what they knew at the end of the summer. A thread, here or there, perhaps. But nothing of substance. He can't dig, he tells her, not without attracting attention. Her brain fills in the descriptors. Unwanted attention. Bad attention. Gets-you-killed attention.

She shudders, and his fingers curl around her sides. Again, one palm rests over the surgery scar. How does he do that?

"You touch it sometimes," he whispers, mouth at her ear, words warm against her neck. "When it's cold. Or humid. Or when you're having a rough day."

She shuts her eyes, closing out the grim sight in front of her. She wishes, in a way, that she had never let her finger press against that screen. Had never let curiosity get the best of her. Had remained ignorant.

Because love is blind. Isn't that how the saying goes?

She shakes her head, but he says nothing. His hold on her doesn't loosen or tighten. He doesn't move away. However he does it, he apparently knows that she's just working through her thoughts, that she needs him still and solid behind and around her.

Love isn't blind.

Just because she loves him doesn't mean she doesn't see his flaws. He's not perfect.

She sees the way he is too hard on himself. Too willing to forgive others but not himself. She sees the way he needs to be liked, even by the people whose opinions shouldn't matter to him. She sees the way he writes the stories of others but all to often deflects when asked to tell his own.

She know he sees her flaws too. The way she is too quick to run away. The way she is unwilling to accept help. The way she is usually unwilling to admit that she even needs help. She knows he sees those things.

So, no. Love isn't blind. But love doesn't keep score either. And that makes all the difference in the world.

"What do you want me to do?" he rumbles.

She opens her eyes.

"I..." she begins, and presses her elbows over his arms, holding him close with her whole body. "I don't know."

He tucks his chin against her shoulder, a surprisingly intimate move that catches her a little off guard.

"I can keep doing what I've been doing," he offers. "Keep looking into it on my own."

She shakes her head.

"That's too dangerous. If someone catches on, and I don't know what you're doing...if someone has already caught on..."

She doesn't finish the sentence by enumerating the consequences. They both know what's at stake. They both know it's too much, though he would probably try to disagree, tell her that nothing is too much if it means keeping her safe, if it means giving her justice and closure and peace. But he's wrong. It would be too much. His life? Not a sacrifice she's willing to make.

"We could do it together," she says quietly. "Keep each other safe. Watch each other's backs. Partners."

It's his turn to shake his head. His jaw tightens against her shoulder.

"I don't want you anywhere near this."

She can feel him bracing himself for her anger, an assertion that this is her case, her mother's case, and she has every right to be as involved as she wants.

But she just leans further into him.

"No, you're right," she tells him. "It's not...I couldn't...no, it wouldn't be good. For a number of reasons. Not now."

The tension drains out of his body, muscles loosening. His entire embrace softens.

"So what, then?" he whispers. "We just leave it?"

The thought hurts far worse that she imagined it would. But the alternative...

She twists in his embrace until she's facing him, a conscious choice to turn her back on the board. Focus her eyes on him.

"I don't want to do that," she says, her voice low. "But if we don't do this together, we don't do it at all."

She pulls one arm free, slides her hand up his chest, rests her palm over his heart - his strong and faithful heart that is altogether too fragile for her liking - and waits until his attention shifts to her.

Not that his attention was ever elsewhere. But she wants his attention on now-Kate, on present-Kate - not on that Kate on the story board, not on that Kate that he held in the cemetery, not on the nineteen year old version of herself whose desperate grief she knows he's imagined.

"And it's not because I have to be in control all the time," she says, the slight upturn of the corner of his mouth a welcome addition to his otherwise stony expression. "It's that this matters more. Your family, our friends, my dad, you. Your lives matter more."

The sudden crush of his arms around her is good. It's right in a way she hasn't known it could be. He makes things better.

He touches things and makes them better. Herself included.

"I thought you would hate me."

His words, his broken, ugly words squeeze her and rip her apart. Castle, no.

Three years of turning him down flat, of pushing him away, of rejecting his affections - rejecting everything but his coffee (and even turning that down once or twice) - it's all taken a toll on him. She can see that now. How the confident, self-assured man is really not.

He's vulnerable. There are chinks in his armor.

And she's not sure if she created them or just revealed them. They might be the legacy of a lonely childhood and two failed marriages and single fatherhood.

He protects his heart just as much as she does, but in his own way. He's just as selective as she is in his loyalty. But to those in whom he places his trust and friendship, he is fiercely true. He's proven that. And yet, people let him down, time and again.

They cheat on him with their directors. They murder their fathers. They turn their backs on him for entire summers and let him suffer in solitude.

She wraps her arms around him as far as she can, embracing all of him with every inch of her.

"I couldn't," she whispers, her mouth brushing against his ear now. "There's nothing you could do to make me hate you. Not now, not ever."

His lungs expand against her chest, a ragged, stilted inhale.

His body feels smaller under her hands. Last night, this morning, he surrounded her. Now he's compressed, syncopated, accented in all the wrong places.

She pulls back to see his face. Instead of the pacific blue of his eyes, there's the gray of brewing storm.

Instead of the smile she secretly adores, she notices the wrinkles in his forehead that don't come from laughter.

Her hand lifts of its own accord, thumb brushing up the ridge of his nose to wipe away the furrow of his brows. He does this to Minnie, she realizes. And just like the kitten, his eyes clear and then fall shut under the caress.

His breathing evens, the jagged edge of his respiration smoothing into peace.

"Kate..."

Every time he says her name is a little different, a little more. She leans forward, closes her eyes to join him in the dark.

"Nothing you could do," she tells him, nudging her nose against his, leaving the whisper of a kiss at the side of his mouth.

"Not now," she assures him, sweeping across the stubble on his cheeks.

"Not ever," she promises him, lips grazing his earlobe as she whispers to him in a way she's never done before.

She draws back but leaves their bodies in close contact, hips bracketed by his thighs, her soft curves molded to his form in all the best ways.

Both hands rise to feather her touch under his eyes. She waits until he opens his, watches as the blue replaces the gray.

"Rick, there is nothing you could do to make me stop loving you."

His startled laugh cuts off abruptly when she presses her mouth to his, warm and sweet and promising a lifetime that they haven't yet put into words.

"Face it, babe," she says, pushing against his shoulders to separate them slightly. "You're stuck with me. Minnie too."

He grins. She hasn't seen that particular smile since the s'morelet, which feels like ages ago, even if it was really only a couple of hours.

"Joint custody?" he asks, the twinkle back where it should be, hope radiating from every pore.

She nods.

"We'll figure it out."

He pulls her back into him, his fingers delving into her curls. And then he kisses her.

It's love and tenderness, forgiveness and apology, now and forever all rolled into one.

"Wait a sec," he says, parting their lips with a quiet pop. "Did you just call me _babe_?"

She shrugs, eyes glinting with wickedness and affection as she sinks into him again.

"It slipped out."


	20. Chapter 20

"We should go, _babe_," he whispers.

Oh, she could smack him! Maybe give him a taste of his own medicine first though.

"You're right, pooh bear, we've got a case to solve."

His hands shift to her shoulders to pull her away from him, but her plan obviously didn't work. Because he's grinning. Widely. Cheeks stretched by the strength of his joy.

"Does this mean I can call you 'honey buns' or something equally cute and embarrassing?"

Yeah, should have known he'd take it and try to run with it.

"Only if you want me to call you 'kitten' again."

He scowls at her, but there's such an adoration in his eyes that his glaring is basically ineffective. Cute, though. The way he tries.

"I'd prefer if you stayed away from that one," he says, shaking his head.

She leans into him again, resting her chin on his shoulder and pressing her temple against his. His arms tighten around her back, fingers lightly massaging her muscles and slowly turning her into a pile of goo.

"Can we...keep this between us for a bit?"

She turns her head to see his profile, surprised by his tentative question.

"You know I won't really call you 'pooh bear' in public."

He laughs.

"Not unless I deserve it, right?"

She winks, nudges his ear with her nose.

"Exactly," she says. "But what's this about, Castle? I thought you'd want to shout it from the rooftops."

He shakes his head, pressing his lips gently to her cheek.

"No."

She's a little shocked, to be honest. Not hurt. Not when he's holding her like this. Loving her like this. But she is curious. Maybe she can tease it out of him.

"Ashamed of me, Mr. Big Shot? Is the lowly detective not up to your usual standards?"

His eyes darken, and she quickly realizes she's made a mistake in poking him.

"Not ashamed of you, Kate," he says quietly. "Never ashamed of you. But afraid for you, yes."

Oh. Not what she expected. And she's not certain what he means either.

"Why, Castle? The press?"

They'd been standing, but he leans once more against the desk, tugging her to stand between his legs, his hands falling to her hips.

It sounds strange, even in her own brain, after the conversation they've just had, but his face is uncharacteristically somber. Whatever it is, it's something that seriously worries him. And that concerns her.

"After you were shot, I talked to Paula and Gina about you."

He did what? Why?

"I asked them to keep your name and picture out of anything they could. Anything Nikki Heat related, of course, anything related to me. And I asked them to keep an eye out for stories that mentioned you in other ways."

She doesn't understand.

"Why, Castle? Not that I don't appreciate the effort to give me privacy, especially while I was recovering, but it seems like this is something more."

He sighs, lifts one hand up to brush her cheek, to slide a rogue lock of hair behind her ear.

"I don't want you to be a target."

Her incredulous chuckle does nothing to lighten the expression on his face. If anything, he grows more solemn.

"Kate, there are plenty of people who wouldn't mind hurting me. Why do you think I'm so cautious with Alexis? And obviously, there are people who have it out for you."

She has to admit, she's never really thought much about how he must try to keep his daughter out of the media eye. Not beyond that conversation they had last weekend when he told her about his wedding to Gina and how things ended.

But asking his people keep Kate herself out of the papers? That's new. She'd noticed that she'd gotten far less ribbing after the release of the latest book than she did for the first two, but honestly she'd just figured it was because her coworkers knew she was still dealing with the aftermath of May.

It's not like she routinely scans the papers or the internet for her name anyway.

So does this have something to do with the possibility that her sniper (Her sniper? No. She doesn't want to claim him. Not the way she wants to claim her writer. The sniper, then.) could still be out there, watching? Although she figures that whoever wants her dead will still want her dead regardless of whether her name appears in the papers attached to Richard Castle's.

So, what is it then?

"Castle?"

He shakes his head, hand sliding around to her side, rubbing up and down, up and down.

"Sometimes I get crazy fans."

Oh, she knows. Scott Dunn was a fan. A fan who fixated on her and almost killed her.

"And that's what you're worried about?"

He shrugs, drops his fingers away from her side as Minnie pops up on the desk, leaping from the floor to his chair to a spot right next to Castle's hip. The man reaches over to run a large hand over the kitten's whole body, earning a loud purr in return.

He doesn't look back at her when he replies.

"Partly. I just don't want to give anyone more reason or opportunity to come after you. And unfortunately, if we're publicly together, some of the weird ones will come out of the woodwork."

Really, it would be funny if he didn't seem so worried.

"Castle," she whispers, stilling his hand over the kitten's back. "It's fine. You're the one who knows the media and who knows your fans. Do what you think is best."

He looks up at her, and she can see the surprise in his face.

"I trust you," she tells him. "And I know you want what's best for me, for both of us."

The writer nods, eyes filling with something good, something tender, as he tightens his grip on her with the remaining hand. Amazing, what a simple phrase can do to him.

"What about Lanie and the boys?" he asks after a moment of just gazing at her. "And what do we do about Gates? Do we tell them?"

She laughs, not at his question, but at the fact that Minerva obviously does not approve of the halting of his affection.

The kitten worms her way into his lap. Except with the way he's leaning against the desk, and holding Kate, his lap doesn't really exist. So now the little creature has to settle in the small space between the two humans. She curls into a ball and lets out a loud kitty sigh.

Is this what it's going to be like? When we have kids? Always interrupted in the middle of a conversation?

His whole posture tenses, and she looks up from the kitten to find a deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face. Well, what's that about? But she doesn't have a chance to ask him.

"Kids?"

Oh. She said that out loud, didn't she? Damn.

And she knows, she knows that he was reading her mind earlier, that he'd hinted at having children with her if she wanted. But she hadn't meant to be so blatant in bringing it up. Not when they'd officially been together fewer than 24 hours.

He's still staring at her though, still waiting for her response.

"It slipped out?"

He laughs, a full body laugh that warrants a displeased meow from the kitten between them.

"Is that going to be your response every time you accidentally say something like that?"

She shrugs, lowering her hand between then to stroke the little cat, her fingers brushing against his hip and his belly in the process. His legs tighten around her.

"Are you really going to complain about me calling you babe and implying that I want to have children with you?"

He shakes his head.


	21. Chapter 21

"You mind if we leave Minnie here for now?"

As soon as she uses that plural pronoun, he's smiling. Easy to please. It's the little things with him.

"That's fine," he nods, lifting his hand to brush the backs of his fingers against her cheek, a gentle gesture that is quickly becoming one of her favorites. "You want to just leave her in my bedroom? Less chance of her getting out accidentally."

She leans into his hand as it unfurls against her, pressing a kiss to his warm palm.

His eyes fill with something tender, something giving, something deeper than mere affection, deeper maybe even than love.

"That sounds like a good idea," she says softly, reaching between them with both hands to scoop up the sleeping kitten, letting one hand linger against his thigh until he pointedly clears his throat.

His eyes are closed when she looks back up, darker when they finally open.

"Not nice to tease, Kate," he says, his voice rough, tight.

She leans in, kitten trapped in her hand between their chests, and presses her mouth to his jaw, nibbling her way up to whisper in his ear.

"Not a tease, Rick," she breathes, placing a sultry accent on his first name, letting a hot puff of air wash over his ear on the plosive _k_. "A promise."

His heart thunders against the back of her hand. Such power she has over him. Does he know he holds the same?

She slides from his ear to his mouth, pushing her body into him, pouring out her desire. His hands clench at her sides, fisting the material of her shirt, pulling her closer, holding her there. But she wouldn't leave if she could.

His tongue strokes against her bottom lip and she opens to him, taking him inside, all glorious pressure and divine heat.

Oh, they're going to drive each other crazy, aren't they?

A squeak echoes from the vicinity of his sternum and she forces herself away from him, wipes a hand across her mouth, looks up to find him doing the same, his expression a little dazed.

"Think we've scarred her for life?" he asks after a moment, humor tinging the want in his voice.

The detective's eyes light on little Minerva, find something of a kittenish glower on the tiny face.

"Oh," he laughs. "She's perfected the Beckett glare."

His words earn him a poke in the abdomen. He splutters, but she soothes the offended spot with her thumb, rubbing away the temporary pain, gliding over his ribs. Back and forth, back and forth.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, his hands lowering from her sides to rest on her hips.

"Kate," he says, voice low and strained.

"Mmm?"

He inhales once more, as if he's steeling himself for something, and her thumb pausing in its ministrations.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I need you to stop touching me."

Oh. Yeah. Probably a good idea if they want to make it anywhere but to his bedroom today, though that plan would not be without merit.

"Sorry," she whispers, though she can hear no trace of real apology in her own voice.

He lifts his hand to take hers, twining their fingers, and she steps back, out of the vee of his legs, out of the cozy warmth of his surrounding body.

His lips find their home on her temple briefly as he squeezes her hand.

"I'll go get her food and water and put them into the bathroom so she'll have everything she needs."

He provides. She understands that about him. Loves that about him. He gives his daughter and mother everything they could ever need to be happy. He brings her coffee and food, makes sure she's warm and well-fed. He takes care of people. And small animals, apparently.

She turns to catch his lips in a quick, soft kiss.

"Thanks."

He doesn't ask why, just nods and leaves the office, lets her make her way back into the bedroom to get the kitten settled before they go.

His bed remains unmade, sheets and covers messy and twisted. Twin indentations grace the pillows, evidence of her night spent in his arms, sleeping next to the man she loves.

It steals her breath for a moment, the image in front of her. She shuts her eyes and finds his face swimming before her: the slack mouth at rest, the stubbled jaw, the ruffled hair, the little furrow in his brow as he slept.

"Help me make the bed?"

She startles, and he chuckles, bumping her with his hip to nudge her through the entrance to the room, closing the door behind them.

Her eyes track his movements. The writer disappears briefly into the bathroom and returns empty-handed. She hasn't strayed from her spot near the door though, and his head tilts in question when he sees her.

"You okay there?"

She nods, a slow smile creeping onto her face.

"Very much so."

His eyes shine at her answer and he comes to stand in front of her, curling his hands around her biceps, dipping his head to drop a kiss to the end of her nose, then one to her forehead, another to the birthmark low on her cheek.

One hand rises to her neck, angles her head to press his mouth just under her bottom lip. She chuckles.

"You missed."

He narrows his eyes, kisses her chin again.

"I'll have you know, Detective," he pronounces haughtily. "That I have impeccable aim."

She leans back.

"Is that so?"

He hums, that little sound that stirs up something in her belly.

"Who says I'm only interested in your mouth?"

Oh. Oh. Heat flares within her and she feels the flush rising from her chest to paint her cheeks a rosy pink.

The corner of his mouth twitches with a restrained smile. Cocky wise-ass.

She lowers her eyes, lets them drift slowly up his body, hovering at his waist a moment longer than strictly necessary. His hips jerk toward her - not much, but enough to let her know that she's gotten her revenge.

He steps away.

"Uh, yeah. So, the bed?"

She looks up sharply, and he blushes.

"Ah, make the bed," he clarifies, stumbling over the words. "Would you? Help me, I mean."

She holds back her own smile and nods.

"I think you need all the help you can get, Castle."

He glares at her, but she ignores it, just bends to set Minnie on the floor as he heads over to the opposite side of the large bed.

He tosses back the covers and then the sheets, leaning over to grab the pillows and drop them on the floor. She watches as he smoothes the fitted sheet, readjusting corners where they've ridden up. She follows his example and does the same on her side.

They work in silence, the swish of the linens the only sound in the room. There's an odd tension between them, not uncomfortable, but present all the same. Something about this domestic task is almost too much, almost too fast.

He catches her eye and nods toward the top sheet, reaching down to grasp his side at the same time she does hers.

Together, they lift the billowing fabric, dragging it up toward the head of the bed.

And just as she's about to tuck it in, to create the neat hospital corners the way her mother taught her, a gray streak dives underneath.

The writer laughs as the Minnie-shaped lump moves from Kate's side of the bed toward the other, zig-zagging out of reach when the detective leans over to try to grab the small creature.

Castle pushes a knee onto the mattress, lifts up and over the middle, gets a hand on the squirming kitten. But under the tight sheets, the little thing rolls on her back, wraps her paws around him. Even through the fabric, she manages to nip at his fingers, and he jumps back, startled.

When he looks up, hand held to his chest, Kate meets his eyes. Oh, the affront in those sparkling blues. He plays it so believably, the pretend hurt.

"I think I'd rather let her be," he says, turning his hand as if to check for any major wounds. "Those teeth are sharp."

Kate nods, lips pursed in a controlled smirk. She knows it well. She continues with her previous activity, tucking in the corners on her side, rounding the end of the bed to do the same on his. Minnie will just have to worm her way out the top. Castle gets in a quick squeeze of her hip before she makes it back to the other side, and she shoots him a look that is half reproach for distracting her, half simple affection and gratitude. He just grins in response.

The two of them finish making the bed, pulling the comforter over the wriggling mound in the center of the bed. When they've got it done, pillows back on and fluffed, Castle sits on the edge, then flops down on his side.

"Minnie," he calls softly, lifting his eyes to Kate's for a moment, tenderness and pleasure floating between them.

The kitten has been still for the past few seconds, but as soon as she hears her name, they see a shift where her head must be, and she turns in the direction of Castle's deep voice.

There's a muffled meow, and he sets his hand over the thickly covered body, petting her through the blankets.

The writer glances up, beckoning the detective with his eyes, and she allows herself to drop down opposite him, the bulge in the covers between them.

Her hand joins his in stroking the kitten through the blanket, and as soon as it does, a loud purring shatters the easy silence in the room.

Castle lets out a little laugh, and Kate peers through her eyelashes to see him watching the movement of their hands, his face alight with joy.

This man...what did she ever do to deserve him?


	22. Chapter 22

"We still have a murder to solve, don't we?"

He laughs in response to her mostly rhetorical question. So much has happened since they left the precinct the night before. It's surreal. It seems like weeks ago, not mere hours. But then, she and Castle have always played by their own set of rules.

"We do, although you should probably call Esposito before we leave."

Esposito? She raises an eyebrow and he coughs, expression suddenly sheepish, a little wary.

"He, ah, called earlier."

"Earlier?"

How did she miss a call from the other detective? Unless...

"When you...when my mother was patching you up," he says quietly, gesturing to the bandages on her hands.

The rest of what he's thinking but won't vocalize is written all over his face anyway. _When you were sobbing in the bathroom and I couldn't make it better._

"What did he say?"

He waves his hand, palm up, a little sign that he doesn't think it's too important.

"They found the kid. But he didn't have anything to do with it. Alibi checked out."

Oh, well. Back to square one then.

"Who was he, anyway? And how did they find him?"

Castle chuckles.

"He was trying to get a job at the flower shop. Apparently he'd been turned down but was hanging around to talk to Ramirez, hoping for a second chance. When he showed up again this morning, the shop owner that first saw him called Esposito and they brought him in."

Well, that would explain the nervousness. He was keeping an eye out for Ramirez, just not for the purpose they'd anticipated.

"Did he say anything about Restrepo?"

The writer shakes his head.

"Only that they still couldn't reach anyone at the number we had. He said to call him and he and Ryan would meet us there."

There's something in his posture, something tense, and she pauses in the buttoning of her coat to reach out to him, smooth a hand over his lapel.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

He looks down, eyes focused on her hand.

"I, uh, answered your phone."

That's what he's worried about? Answering the phone when Esposito called?

"And?"

His head pops up, a look of disbelief on his face.

"You don't mind? That I picked it up? That he knew you were here?"

She shrugs nonchalantly.

"If it'd been Gates, maybe. But Espo or Ryan? Not really. Anyway, they knew I was coming over last night. What did you tell him about why you answered instead of me?"

Surprise and pleasure blend in his expression, and she's reminded once more that much of the self-confidence is an act. She'll need to work on that hesitance. She doesn't want him to be afraid of her, of her reactions. Well, no more than any woman wants her man to have a little healthy fear and respect.

"I told him the truth, or part of it," he confesses. "That Minnie had scratched you to pieces and my mother was taking care of you."

She nods, wonders again how much the other two detectives know about the case Castle has been working, if they're involved as well.

"I didn't tell him anything else, if that's what you're wondering. He and Ryan would kill me if they knew what I'd been doing."

Well, there's that question answered. But he's wrong, all the same. And he needs to know.

"They wouldn't kill you, Castle. They'd see it for what it was - you trying to keep me safe."

He lifts his hand to cover hers on his chest, dipping his head to press his lips to her fingers.

"Are we okay?" he asks, pleading and brokenness still echoing in his voice. "Really okay, I mean."

She steps forward, pulling his hand down between them to tangle their fingers at his side, and slides her other arm under his elbow, curling it around his back.

"We're okay, Rick," she says quietly, feels his arm come up to cradle her shoulders. "We're more than okay. And it's done now. It's out in the open, and it's done. No more agonizing."

He nods, cheek brushing against hers.

"Okay," he says in her ear, voice a little gruff with emotion. "Let's go then."

* * *

><p>She returns Esposito's call on the way to Astoria. Well, rather, she has Castle dial the number and put the other detective on speaker.<p>

"Hey Beckett," the familiar voice comes across the line. "Heard we might need to call animal control for ya."

She laughs, sees the corners of her partner's mouth turn up at the sound.

"Nah, she just wasn't very happy about leaving Castle's place is all. She's fine now. We both are."

His hand inches across the console and she lets him rest his fingers on the edge of her thigh, giving him a small smile of encouragement.

"Ooh, a little family drama," the Latino detective jokes. "Does this mean Castle's your kitty-daddy?"

Ouch. There's the ribbing she expected. And Esposito doesn't even know the half of it, doesn't even know that they spent the night wrapped in each other's arms.

The writer laughs at her side, and she looks up to find his eyes twinkling. This is right. She's made the right choice.

"Let's just say I'd be happy to pay kitten support if needed," he says.

Esposito's chuckle rings out through the connection.

"That right, bro? Sounds like she's got you pretty smitten."

Castle hums his acknowledgment.

"What can I say?" he asks, but his eyes are on Kate. "She's adorable. It'd be impossible not to fall in love with her."

She drops her hand from the wheel to squeeze his fingers where they sit on her leg. His smile widens further, tenderness and deep affection shining in his eyes.

"Alright, boys," she breaks in. "Back to the case at hand. We're on our way to Astoria. You and Ryan gonna meet us there?"

There's a shuffle in the background and then she hears Ryan's voice calling out that they'll leave right now.

"We'll see you soon," Esposito concludes, and then the line goes dead.

"Guess they haven't learned anything else yet," Castle says, and Kate nods.

"Any crazy theories you'd like to offer? On the possibility of Elena's mother being alive, and how it might relate to her husband being dead?"

The writer leans back in his seat, thoughtful expression on his face. She loves this. Loves watching his brilliant storyteller's mind at work.

They approach mysteries in completely different ways. She goes by the evidence, the timeline. She has to. But he looks for the story, the characters and their quirks. And they're stronger when they work together. Maybe in life too, not just at the precinct.

"I think Agustin knew."

She glances over at him.

"Knew what? That Elena's mother was alive?"

He shrugs.

"It would explain why he didn't just take his family and run when he started getting threats."

They stop at an intersection and she turns to face him.

"So do you think he knew all along? Or just found out recently? And how?"

He brings his right hand up to rub across his rough chin. He didn't shave this morning, she realizes. Did he even shower?

They woke up, declared their love for each other, made out, she showered, they ate breakfast with Alexis. And then everything happened with Minnie and the murder board. And then they made out some more, she told him she wanted to have his babies, they made out some more, made the bed, and then they left.

So yeah, probably no shower for him. Lots of kissing, but no shower. Oh, and his shower is so...that would be...and if he hasn't bathed, that would mean the coffee he spilled on himself yesterday-

"I think-" he says, breaking her out of her recollections and then stopping when he glances over at her. "You're blushing, Kate. Why are you blushing?"

Her eyes widen, and now she can feel the heat in her cheeks. She shakes her head.

"You had an idea?"

He leers across the small space.

"Oh, I have plenty of ideas."

His fingers squeeze around hers and she startles. She'd forgotten they were holding hands. Yeah, it might be harder to conceal this from their coworkers than she thought.

"About the case, Castle," she groans. "Ideas about the case."

He gives her a playful wink, but then his features straighten.

"What if Elena's mother was kidnapped, but wasn't murdered? What if her kidnappers brought her to the States instead? Maybe one fell in love with her or something."

She nods.

"Could be. But what if she went willingly in the first place? What if she was trying to escape something or someone back in Colombia? Maybe even Elena's father."

His jaw drops a little and then he smirks, eyes lighting with a spark of mischief and pleasure.

"Oh, shut up," she says, smacking his arm lightly. "Yes, you've rubbed off on me over the past three years."

He shakes his head, the smirk never fading.

"I didn't say a word, Detective Beckett, not a word."

She's been holding back on the eye-rolling the past few months, preferring instead to let him catch her with a small secretive smile. But this deserves an eye-roll. And she gives it to him. He beams.

"Anyway, what if part of the story was true and Ramirez really did run into trouble with this Restrepo guy, only to find out that the man's wife bore a striking resemblance to his own bride."

He picks easily up where she leaves off.

"Of course, he would be shocked. That's why she'd had to hide him in the first place - because her father was so angry about his wife's kidnapping and murder that he would have killed Agustin if he'd found out about him."

"Right," the detective continues. "So that would be enough to maybe make him investigate further, instead of moving his family out of danger."

She looks over at the writer, waiting for him to run with the story, to find the plot line and follow it to its conclusion. But he just has this puzzled look on his face.

"What, Castle?"

He shakes his head.

"I don't know," he begins. "I just...if you were a mother, wouldn't you do everything in your power to stay with your children? You wouldn't just leave them alone. You wouldn't let them think you'd been murdered."

He's right.

"So maybe this was a kidnapping. Maybe it still is. But thirty years? That's a long time to keep someone under lock and key."

Castle drums his fingers on his thigh.

"She wasn't under lock and key though. Not completely. She had a driver's license."

The detective pulls her fingers free (they were still holding hands? Really?), and runs them through her hair.

"Stockholm Syndrome?" she asks, and he shrugs.

"Only one way to find out."

She sighs as they turn onto the right street. A couple hundred yards down, she can already see Ryan and Esposito, leaning against the hood of their cruiser.

"Kate?" the writer calls quietly, and she glances over at him.

"Hmm?"

He slides his hand over to set it on her thigh, fingertips scratching lightly against the dark denim. Oh, he needs to stop that right now.

"The press is one thing, but I'm following your lead here, okay?"

It takes her a moment to catch his meaning, but when she does, she gives him a soft smile, dropping her hand over his as she pulls up alongside the curb.

"Do you remember how quickly we figured out about Espo and Lanie?"

He nods solemnly.

"Do you really think we could keep this from them, Castle? I just held your hand for at least fifteen minutes without realizing it. And they're our friends. They know us."

He grins, that little boy pride mixed with the full grown joy.

"So what you're saying is..."

She grips his hand tightly, leans over to press her lips briefly to his cheek, knowing they're still blocked from view by the cars in front of them.

"We're doomed."


	23. Chapter 23

Ryan grins as they approach the building, and Kate glances down to double check that she and Castle are not, in fact, holding hands. They're not. Must be something else then.

"Let me get this straight," the blue-eyed detective says cheekily. "You two make it out of the lair of a three hundred pound hungry _tiger _completely unscathed, only to be mauled by a one pound kitten. How does that work, exactly?"

She has to give it to him. That was a bit funny. Watching him feed the birds with Esposito is just icing on the cake. They're like her little brothers sometimes, and she can't help but love them for their goofiness, be grateful for their friendship.

"She just lulls you into a false sense of security, you know?" her partner is telling them now. "I mean, she's all sweet and cuddly and affectionate, and then, BAM! she's got her claws in you."

Esposito bumps Castle's shoulder as they step into the elevator.

"Dude, I do not need to know what happens when you and Beckett hang out. She's like my sister, man!"

Yeah, maybe love and gratitude aren't exactly the right words to describe how she feels about them.

Somehow, she manages to swing her leg around Castle's knee and catch the Hispanic detective's shin with her heel.

"Madre de Dios!" he exclaims, leaning against the side of the elevator and reaching down to clutch at his leg. "I see what you mean, bro."

She levels a glare on him, and he shuts up instantly. Castle's body is close enough that she can feel the slight quiver of his arms, and when she looks up at him, both lips are tucked tightly between his teeth, holding in his laughter.

She's just about ready to glare at him too when he gives her a subtle nod, a little message of _serves him right_communicated clearly through his eyes.

They've ganged up on the writer in the past, especially when he was "cursed," but she and Castle have had their fair share of "us vs. them" moments against Ryan and Esposito too. And it looks like the dynamics won't be changing anytime soon.

Esposito is still complaining when the elevator doors slide open and they're confronted with an empty hallway.

"What's the number?" she asks as they step out, looking to one of the boys for the information.

Ryan glances down at his notebook.

"Five-oh...that's not good."

She follows his eyes to apartment 503, takes note of the splintered wood that used to be a door, now demolished by an axe or a sledgehammer or something equally destructive.

None of them are wearing vests. They weren't expecting this kind of reception. And who knows who or what might wait for them inside?

She exchanges a look with Esposito and then Ryan, finally turns her eyes to the fourth member of the team.

"You stay out here until we clear it, Castle."

She makes sure the command in her voice is clear, and for once he doesn't argue, just nods. But just as she's about to turn away and follow Esposito inside, he speaks, barely more than a whisper, low enough that she's the only one who can hear the words.

"Be-"

"Careful. I know. I will. You keep your eyes open too."

He nods again, and she steps past him, brushing her knuckles along his hip on the way.

Esposito gives a silent three-count and throws open what remains of the door, calling out a warning to whomever might be inside.

Darkness fills the space, the curtains closed, and every light off. The three detectives fan out, checking the rooms one by own, hastily retrieved flashlights searching every corner for signs of life or death. But there's nothing they can see, no one to be found. The first thing she does once they've cleared the apartment is hunt for the light switch. The second is to call out for Castle to let him know he can come in.

He doesn't answer.

Her heart pounds rapidly in her chest, as she locks eyes with Ryan who stands closest to the door. The man steps quickly out to check on the writer.

"Beckett?" he calls from the hallway. "He's gone."

No. She left him alone for two minutes, tops. Probably less than that. That's not enough time for something to have happened to him. Not after everything they've been through to get where they are now. Not after last night and this morning and their battle to make things right between them. No...

Esposito is on her heels as she exits the apartment. They'll need to finish checking things out. But she has other priorities at the moment. Namely, one Richard Castle.

Ryan stands in the hallway, awaiting her instruction. But before she has a chance to say a word, to form a single plan in her mind, his laughter rings out from the open doorway a few yards away, and there he is, leaning down to let an older woman pat his cheek, that crinkled-eyed smile on his face.

She's going to kill him for disappearing like that. Hug him first, maybe. But then kill him.

"Hey, there you are," he says when he looks up. But he must catch the expression on her face, possibly those of the boys as well, because he immediately looks concerned. "Everything okay?"

She shakes her head as her heart rate slows back to its regular pace.

"Fine, Castle," she tells him, giving him a tight smile when the worried look doesn't leave his face. "What's up?"

His posture straightens, and he searches her eyes, glances over to Ryan and Esposito who both just look relieved. When none of the three detectives offer anything more, the writer gestures to the woman, and Kate studies her for the first time.

"This is Gloria Dias," he says, hand coming to rest gently on the woman's stooped shoulder. "She lives in 506."

She's barely five feet tall - tiny, especially when standing next to the detective's rather large shadow. But the woman has the look of someone who has seen much, who has survived by determination and grit and sheer force of will.

"You are looking for Claudia Restrepo?" she asks in slow but confident English, and Beckett nods, approaching the pair. "She is gone."

Esposito opens his mouth to speak, possibly to question the woman in Spanish, to get answers more quickly, more fluidly. But Castle jumps in before the other man has the chance.

"Gone how?" the writer asks quietly. "Gone as in she left?"

The wizened woman shakes her head.

"Dead, Richard Castle. Two days ago. Friday morning."

The kid was innocent, and now their only other lead is dead. Lovely.

"How did she die, Ms. Dias?" Kate asks, stepping closer to stand next to her partner. His elbow brushes against her side and she realizes she's a little too near. A night and a morning of close contact between them has skewed her perception of acceptable distance. But she's not going to move now - that would just make her look skittish to him and raise suspicion from the boys, and she doesn't want either. Better just to stay put.

"She had a heart attack," the woman says, lifting her hand to gesture toward the other apartment. "Right here in the corridor, as she was bringing in her groceries. I called 911, but it was too late by the time the paramedics arrived. It is too bad. She was a good friend."

Kate steps back, sweeps her gaze up and down the hallway, drifting back toward the broken door.

"Do you know how that happened?" the detective asks, pointing back toward the other apartment.

The woman shakes her head.

"I went to visit my daughter and her family on Friday night. Yesterday was my granddaughter's eleventh birthday. I just returned and saw the door that way a few minutes ago. I was about to call the police when I heard the yelling and came out to find Richard Castle standing in the hall."

Kate gives her partner a look, and he ducks his head sheepishly.

"Nikki Fuego," he says with a small grin for the weathered woman who is looking up at him with a strange mixture of awe and motherly affection. "She recognized me from my picture on the back."

_Oh_. She's seen him with groupies and gangsters, but grandmothers? That's new. And sweet, the way he smiles at the woman. He's a good man, generous and kindhearted.

"Did Mrs. Restrepo live with anyone?" Ryan pipes up, drawing her attention away from the sparkling blue of her partner's eyes, back to the investigation.

The woman nods.

"Her son, James."

"Have you seen him recently?" Ryan asks. "Since she died, I mean."

Ms. Dias shakes her head.

"He'd been gone about a week. She told me he was out of town on business. I am sure someone called him after his mother died, but as I said, I have not been home."

Beckett nods to Esposito and he steps away from the group, phone already to his ear, calling the information in to confirm the son's whereabouts.

"Is there anything else you can tell us, Ms. Dias?"

Her partner's voice is soft, compassionate. But the older woman shrugs.

"They were quiet people. There isn't much to tell. They lived here for five years. There were never any problems as far as I could tell. He went to work every day. She stayed home mostly. We attended the same church. But aside from that, I can think of nothing else."

The detectives thank Ms. Dias for her time, and Kate watches, holding back an affectionate smile, as the writer bends to press a kiss to the back of the older woman's hand. She blushes, and as he straightens, Castle gives her a roguish wink. Mrs. Dias laughs and smacks him on the arm, and warmth flares in Kate's belly as she takes in the scene.

"Always the charmer, isn't he?" Ryan whispers, and Kate turns to see the blue-eyed detective standing next to her.

She shrugs, ignores the knowing look he's giving her.

"Part of his nature, I guess," she offers. "And it probably helps sell the books too. All part of the persona."

Ryan nods and focuses his gaze on the writer, whose attention is still on the older woman, head tilted down to her level, eyes twinkling at whatever she's saying to him.

"It's not a bad thing," the other detective tells her, breaking Kate out of her thoughts. "He's a good guy. I'm glad he's here."

A flutter of affection for her teammate rises up in her chest, and she turns to him. He's getting married in a week, and Jenny will be a lucky girl to have a husband like Kevin Ryan. He's unfailingly loyal, smart and kind. He'll be a good mate, and a good father someday too.

"Don't you dare tell Castle I said this," she warns. "But I'm kinda glad he's here too."

And then the gentle smile on the man's face turns to a teasing smirk.

"Yeah, I just bet you are."


	24. Chapter 24

Ryan and Esposito head back to the precinct after she and Castle agree to spring for lunch for the group, a thank you to the other detectives for doing the morning's legwork and allowing their teammates time to sort things out (even if they have no real idea about what that entailed).

The writer follows her to the cruiser, offering meal ideas from Thai to Alaskan (Alaskan? she asks. Lots of salmon, he tells her, and the occasional polar bear. Oh, he's joking.), but they settle on the familiar Chinese. One of their favorite places is right on the way from here back to the precinct.

He offers to pay, and she tells him they'll split, that they're partners, in this too. That makes his eyes soften, and she smiles as she opens the driver's side door and slips into the car, buckling her seat belt as he mirrors her.

"Hey, you okay?"

Castle's voice is low as she pushes the key into the ignition. Her eyes dart up to meet his own deep blue as they swim with concern. They were joking around about lunch only a moment ago, and now he's switched gears. It takes her by surprise.

"Yeah, Castle, I'm good," she answers quickly, and he sighs. "Why?"

He turns his hand where it rests on the console, leaving his open palm facing up.

"You just...when you guys left Restrepo's apartment, you looked shaken. You were pale."

She knew he'd noticed at the time, but had figured he had either forgotten by now or had seen that everything was okay and would let it go. Obviously not. She takes the invitation, slides her hand into his, lacing their fingers and squeezing.

"I called out to tell you that it was clear, that you could come into the apartment," she says gently. "And you didn't answer."

His hand tightens around hers, knuckles whitening with his grip.

"Kate..."

She shakes her head, brings their hands up, pulls them against her chest.

"It just scared me, that's all. And then when Ryan checked the hall and you weren't where we'd left you..." She pauses, takes a deep breath, and his fingers twitch against the fabric of her shirt. "I'm not the only one who cares about you, you know? The boys...they consider you one of their own."

His throat muscles clench as he swallows.

"I'm sorry," he says thickly. "I didn't think. I just...she called out to me and she looked afraid, and I just - I should have waited for you. I didn't mean to scare you. Any of you."

She shakes her head, releasing his hand to lift her fingers to his cheek, tips caressing the stubble on his jaw before they rise to smooth across an eyebrow and down to the fine hair at his temple, still a dark brown, physical evidence of his youthful nature.

"It's fine, Castle. You're fine. And that's all that matters. Just...let us know where you're going, okay? I don't want to lose you."

And then she's glad she's not driving yet, because his lips cover hers, a fierce and tender expression of his regret, repentance become worship.

The hand that had been holding hers drifts up her body, skimming her sides, and then her - _oh that's good _- and makes its way across the sliver of skin bared by her coat to curl around the nape of her neck. His fingers tangle in the short curls, tightening and releasing and tightening again.

He grips her thigh with his other hand, pulls her as close as he can with the impediment created by the console, and settles for squeezing tightly, fingers digging into strong muscles. Not hard enough to leave a bruise, she thinks, but then, she might not even care if he did. She'll probably return the favor at some point.

His mouth works at hers, gentle but wild, giving and yet demanding that she dive in right alongside him. And she does. Wholeheartedly. No hesitation. No regrets.

He forces all the air from her lungs, leaves her gasping, fingers clutched around his collar when he pulls away.

"Hell of an apology there, partner," she says when she's found her breath again after a moment. "And that wasn't even a fight. I wasn't even mad at you."

He chuckles darkly, lifts one shoulder in the semblance of a shrug.

"Just wait until we get to the still partially angry make-up sex."

Uh. Yeah. Well then.

He squeezes her thigh a final time and a frisson of heat shoots through her veins even as a laugh escapes her lips.

He grins. He's good for her. In more ways than one.

A tapping startles both of them, and she tears her gaze from his twinkling eyes, from his crimson, swollen lips to look over his shoulder at the figure rapping on the window.

It's Gloria Dias. The woman is hunched against the cold, nearly swallowed up by a coat that must have once been elegant. And she's smirking. Knowingly.

Castle follows the detective's eye and turns around, gives the woman a little wave as he hits the button to roll down the passenger side window.

"I remembered something," the woman says, before Kate even has a chance to ask what they can do for her. "A week and a half ago, I heard an argument coming from the Restrepos' apartment as I was returning from my book club meeting."

Dias gives the writer a not-so-secret smile, and the detective knows the woman will surely be boasting at the next meeting. She'll be the star for the day, the woman who met the famous author. And not just met, but helped with a case. It warms her heart, especially with the way Castle is smiling at her, a bit bashful, still a little fuzziness in his blue eyes.

"What did you hear?" the detective asks.

"I thought it was James, at first. He was a nice young man, but he did have a temper, and occasionally I would hear him arguing with a friend or a girlfriend who happened to be over. But it wasn't him. It was someone else."

The writer reaches through the open window to clasp the woman's wrist.

"Who was it?"

The woman shakes her head.

"I'm not sure. But it was a man. And I remember he said, 'I know who you are. I know who you are.'"

Castle glances behind him and catches the detective's eye.

"You didn't see the man, did you, Ms. Dias?" she asks. "Didn't get a look at his appearance?"

The woman gives a regretful shake of her head.

"I'm afraid not. But Claudia did seem upset the next time I saw her. Worried. But she didn't tell me why. And sometimes it's better not to ask, you know?"

Castle nods, and Kate thanks the woman again.

"I'm sorry." Dias says. "I'm getting more and more forgetful these days. I should have remembered before. I hope I didn't...interrupt anything just now."

The detective feels a blush rising in her cheeks, sees the tick in Castle's jaw that means he's trying not to laugh.

Kate shakes her head, smiling kindly at the woman.

"You two do make a lovely couple, you know." Dias whispers, a glint of secret pleasure in her eyes, and the detective notices the way the woman's left thumb rubs across her ring finger - empty but still bearing the tan line of a long-worn wedding ring. "I had seen gossip in the papers, but not for a long time. I didn't know you were really together."

Castle doesn't bother to stop his chuckle this time, just takes the woman's hand, his own larger one completely covering it.

"This is actually new," he says softly. "Would you mind not telling anyone? We're trying to keep it ours for a bit. Out of the press."

The older woman smiles, and the detective can see the faded beauty shining through, how she must have been drawn her husband in with her good looks, kept him there with her sweet spirit.

"Of course, Richard Castle," she promises. "I know what it is like to have the odds against you. I will not say a word."

Kate sees the spark of interest in the author's eyes, the way he wants to know this woman's story, who she is, where she came from - what she knows about beating the odds. But she's already pulling her hand from his and patting him on the shoulder.

"Please let me know if I can be of any additional help. And I wish you both many blessings."

The detective nods, and Dias steps away with a final smile for each of them, her eyes gentle when they land on the woman in the driver's seat. She turns and begins walking back up to her building, and Kate's gaze follows her steps until Castle's hand lands on her thigh.

It's possessive, the way he touches her now, and yet not threatening, not uncomfortable. Just something that tells her he's not completely certain this isn't all a dream and needs to make sure she's really sitting next to him.

"What do you think?" he asks quietly, and she turns to look at him.

She shrugs.

"I think we better get some lunch for the boys and then find James Restrepo and see how much he knows about that argument."

Castle nods his agreement, but says nothing. She sets her hand over his and squeezes, winking at him when he looks up at her.

"I also think we'd better quit making out in my car if we want to keep this a secret for very long."

His face is solemn, but his eyes are soft, probably something to do with her using the words 'making out' in such close proximity to that other little, all-important word - we.

"Could have been worse," he says. "Could have been paparazzi."

She purses her lips, nods.

"Definitely could have been worse. Could have been the boys."

She honestly doesn't care if Ryan and Esposito know. And she'll have to tell Lanie, because the woman will figure it out as soon as she sees the two of them together. Hell, she'll probably figure it out the next time she sees Kate by herself.

But for now, it's fun trying to keep it from them. Especially if the restraint she and Castle are forcing themselves to exert leads to a buildup of pressure that might lend itself to rather, ah, explosive results later.

She turns the key to start the car.

"Let's go. The sooner we get this figured out, the sooner we can go home."

Her eyes don't miss the way his light up at her choice of words. But he doesn't comment on that, just squeezes her leg once more and then takes his hand back to his own side.

"Eager to get back to Minnie?" he asks.

She nods as she pulls into the street, cuts her eyes to him, bottom lip tucked under her teeth. He swallows when he sees her expression, and she lets out a little laugh.

"Among other things."


	25. Chapter 25

"Dad?"

They were halfway across the Queensboro Bridge when his phone rang, and she smiled at the grin on his face when he saw his daughter's picture on the screen. But now she can hear the girl's frantic voice from across the car, and she's starting to get worried.

"Pumpkin? What's wrong?"

The detective reaches over the console to touch his arm, the only small gesture of comfort she can manage at the moment in surprisingly heavy traffic.

"I can't find her, Dad. I've searched everywhere and I can't find her."

The young woman sounds like she's nearly in tears and Kate can see the anxiety appearing in lines around her partner's eyes and mouth.

"Who, Alexis? You can't find who?"

Kate listens as the girl takes a breath, a stutter of a breath. Martha? Is Martha missing?

"The kitten, Dad. I can't find Minnie anywhere."

She's hit by simultaneous waves of relief and panic. His mother is fine. Nothing wrong there. But her kitten?

Castle turns his eyes to hers, pulls the device away from his ear and hits the speakerphone without looking.

"Sweetheart, I'm in the car with Kate. What happened?"

There's a shuffling in the background, and the detective realizes the girl must still be looking, turning things over in her agitation, hunting for a small gray ball of fluff.

"I went into your bedroom to borrow your phone charger because mine stopped working for some reason even though it's almost brand new but I had it in my bag last week so maybe the wires got crushed or torn or something and I didn't realize-"

Kate cuts her off.

"Deep breath, Alexis. It'll be okay. Just tell us what happened."

The rambling stops and they listen to the sound of one long inhale, then two.

"I forgot to close the bedroom door behind me, and she must have gotten out."

Castle's hand lands on her knee and she turns her attention briefly away from the car in front of her to look at the man beside her. So much worry in those blue eyes.

"Why do I always lose people's pets?"

Alexis is talking again - lamenting, really - and the detective can tell if she doesn't step in, another long, breathless run-on sentence will soon begin.

"Out of the loft, Alexis? Or just out of the bedroom?"

There's a silent moment, and then the girl speaks.

"No," she says, and a little of the normal confidence sounds like it's coming back. "No, Gram is asleep, and I haven't opened the front door."

Castle nods at the detective, the hint of a proud smile on his lips, but whether it's because Alexis is calming down or because Kate is the cause of it, she's not sure.

"Okay, so she's gotta be there somewhere. Sit down and tell us where you've looked already."

They listen as the girl takes a few steps, and then there's a whoosh of air that sounds like his couch cushions compressing.

"When I realized I'd left the door open, I looked all over Dad's office, but she wasn't in there. I even checked in the desk drawers."

The writer's face flushes, and she wonders what he might keep in those drawers that has him so embarrassed. Hmm...a mystery for another time.

"Then I went back in the bedroom and checked there. She wasn't anywhere in your bedroom or bathroom, Dad."

He opens his mouth, closes it and then opens it again.

"Did you check the shower? Cats like to drink running water, so if there was a drip or anything, she might have gone in there."

Alexis sighs.

"Checked the shower, checked everywhere. Nothing."

Castle nods, glances over at Kate, who's back to watching the road, but still can see him out of the corner of her eye.

"Okay, pumpkin. You looked everywhere in the bedroom? I think my closet door was open."

The sound of shifting weight over the line echoes through the car, and then they hear rhythmic footsteps, as if the girl is pacing.

"First, you have way too many clothes for a guy. Second, yes, I checked, and she wasn't in there."

The writers chuckles.

"We can discuss my fashion sense later. You checked the bed? She crawled under the covers when it was being made and she was kind of curled up, so you may not have seen her."

It's a little awkward to think of the girl digging through his sheets and comforter, the sheets and comforter that both she and Castle slept under last night. Where they came very close this morning to doing more than sleeping.

"She was sleeping on the bed when I went in, and I stopped for a second to pet her, but she wasn't there when I looked for her a few minutes ago. I took off the pillows and everything. And she wasn't under the bed either."

Kate's starting to think they might have to detour back to Castle's loft, both to find the kitten and comfort the kid. But does she really want to have to call Ryan and Esposito and explain to them why she and Castle will be running late? Again? Yeah, not so much.

"Okay," her partner says calmly. "Checked the living room and the kitchen?"

"Uh-huh."

"Checked the dining room and the hallways and the guest bathroom?"

"Yes."

He looks over at Kate again, and she pulls her gaze away from the stalling traffic in front of them to focus on him, on the worry in those blue eyes, the consternation.

"I checked everywhere downstairs," Alexis says when no one speaks for a moment.

Downstairs.

"Did you check upstairs?" the detective asks suddenly.

"No," Alexis answers. "But could she even get up the stairs? I mean, she's tiny."

Castle's face mirrors the one she knows Alexis must be making, concerned disbelief.

"Alexis," Kate says. "She climbs the stair at my apartment. She can jump. Check upstairs."

But her stairs are wood and stone, and not terribly steep. Castle's stairs, the ones that lead to the other bedrooms, including the guest bedroom that she slept in when she stayed with him after her apartment exploded - those stairs are open. There are spaces in between them, and she has a sudden vision of Minnie jumping from one step to the next, furry paws slipping and sliding as the little kitten careens off the edge. Oh god. They need to go back to his loft _now._ She meets the writer's eyes and knows he's imagining the same scenario. His fingers tighten painfully on her knee.

She's a moment away from using the gumball to get there as quickly as possible when she hears a little yelp from Alexis and then distinct meow. A friendly, curious meow. Not the hurt one. Not even the hungry one.

Oh, oh, she's okay. Her baby is okay.

Alexis laughs, and Castle grins at her across the console, his fingers squeezing as he leans over to brush his lips across her cheek tenderly.

"She's fine," he whispers in her ear. "Minnie's fine. They're both fine."

The detective listens to a clatter, and a "hey, come here, you," from her partner's daughter, and then girl is chuckling again and there's the rich sound of purring transmitted through the speaker.

"Found her."

Kate turns a wry grin to her partner, and he just shakes his head.

"Where was she?" she asks.

The girl's voice is clear, strong when she answers.

"Hiding in the kitchen behind that big silver bowl on the bottom shelf. She jumped out at me when I walked by her."

The writer lets out a sigh of relief and then a chuckle.

"Good job, pumpkin. Why don't you take her back to the bedroom?"

There's silence on the other end for a moment, then a hesitant voice.

"Can I...play with her for a bit?"

Oh, she's going to love this girl. Liked her before, liked her maybe the first time they met. But Richard Castle isn't the only thing she gets out of this deal. She gets his family too.

"Of course, sweetie," she answers, the endearment coming out unintentionally. But from the way her partner's hand slides up her thigh, from the softness in his gaze when she looks at him, she thinks it's okay. More than okay. "Play with her as much as you like. Wear her out, in fact. That would be great. There are a couple of toys with her stuff in your dad's bathroom."

She can hear the smile in the girl's voice when she answers.

"Thanks, Kate. I'll make sure nothing happens to her."

She nods, even knowing Alexis can't see her. Then she pulls Castle's hand from where it's rubbing up and down her thigh, where it's starting to drive her crazy, and she wraps her fingers around his, holds him tight.

"I know you will, Alexis," she says quietly. "You Castles are good at that."


	26. Chapter 26

By the time they stroll into the precinct, laden down with bags of Chinese food from Yang's Happy Wok, Ryan and Esposito have managed to track down James Restrepo.

More than just track him down, actually. They've got him in interrogation one and they're letting him sweat. Primed and ready for you, Esposito tells her.

"How'd you find him?" Beckett asks as the four of them lean against the table in the observation room, each digging chopsticks into a different carton.

Her boys exchange a glance, and then Ryan speaks through a mouthful of Kung Pao Beef.

"Turns out at least part of the story Elena Ramirez told you was true. Narcotics had Restrepo on their radar. They'd been keeping an eye on him and knew exactly where he was."

Castle sets down his chopsticks, handing Kate the container of wontons they'd been passing back and forth between them.

"So it was drugs after all?" he says, and she can't help but smile a little at the disappointed look on his face. He wants excitement, he wants intrigue – he wants a story. And drugs apparently don't meet his criteria.

Esposito nods.

"In part, at least. I don't know why I didn't think of it before, but Diego…it's the Spanish equivalent of James."

The writer's eyes light up.

"So he is Diego Restrepo?"

The Hispanic detective nods again.

"We ran checks, and there's no record of a Diego Restrepo in any of the systems. For all intents and purposes, James Restrepo is his legal name, at least in this country. But it turns out he still holds a Colombian passport under his birth name – Diego Luis Restrepo de la Rosa."

They turn to watch the man through the two-way mirror. He looks haggard, but composed, exactly what one might expect of a man whose mother has just died.

"So what does Narcotics have on him?" Beckett asks, reaching over to swipe an eggroll from the carton in Castle's hands. The writer smiles and slides the paper box closer to her, letting their fingers brush briefly. The boys don't even take notice.

Huh. Maybe she and Castle have been acting like a couple longer than they've actually been one. So as long as she doesn't lay one on him in the middle of the bullpen, maybe they can keep this a secret for a little bit.

It's somewhat reassuring for dignity's sake, especially since she couldn't keep the smile off her face after Castle ended the call with Alexis earlier.

Just relief, she told herself.

Not anything to do with the hope in the girl's voice when she said she'd "see you guys later," nor with the strength of her partner's hands as he rubbed away the tension in her shoulders while they stood in a secluded corner of the restaurant, waiting for their food.

No, nothing to do with those things at all.

"International drug trafficking," Ryan explains and it takes Kate a moment to recall the details of the conversation going on around her. "And actually, they've been watching him, but haven't been able to nail him on anything yet."

Castle leans into her space, hand darting over to pluck another wonton from the container he'd handed her earlier, and she's assaulted by the scent of his cologne, mixed with the familiar coffee, and something she's never quite been able to place. It's him, she realizes, just his own scent - warm and a little musky, sweet.

She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, he's watching her, head cocked slightly to one side, concern and affection playing across his face.

The corners of her mouth quirk slightly upward, and the worry in his eyes drifts away, leaving just the tenderness. Did he just start looking at her this way since they talking things through last night and this morning? Or is this something she's missed, been missing over the course of months or even years?

"So why haven't they been able to get him on anything?" the author asks, diverting his focus back to Ryan before the two of them gain any unwanted attention from the other two detectives.

Esposito shrugs.

"This guy - he's good. Has a perfectly respectable job as a small businessman. Making enough to get by well, but not enough to raise any eyebrows, you know?"

Beckett turns her attention to the man in the other room. He's well dressed, but his clothes don't look new. His apartment certainly wasn't anything spectacular, nor was the neighborhood. Comfortable. Safe. But definitely working class.

"So why do they think he's running drugs?" she asks.

Ryan turns away from his carton of food to look at Restrepo.

"Associations, mostly. He seems to be friends with a lot of known drug runners. And he does a lot of international travel. More than you would expect for someone of his income level."

Castle shifts next to her and she can't ignore the joy that blooms in her chest when she realizes that if she wanted to do so, she could just reach over and touch him, rest her hand on his knee, curl her fingers around his, press her mouth to his jaw.

She won't, of course, not right here in front of Ryan and Esposito. But she could. Her mind drifts to that day in the bank. She wanted to hug him, to pull him into her arms. But she couldn't. They weren't there yet. So she'd reached out and touched the lapel of his jacket. Let her hand linger just long enough to feel the warmth of his chest and the beat of his heart against her fingers. That much was enough, for the moment.

But she doesn't have to settle for that anymore.

"What countries does he visit?"

The writer's question draws her out of her thoughts. Really, she's gotta get a handle on the daydreaming. Especially once Gates is around. The captain will catch her if she's not careful, and Kate doesn't want to give the woman any reason to think she's distracted, any reason to kick her partner out of the twelfth.

"Latin America mostly," Esposito answers. "Colombia, of course, and Guatemala, Costa Rica, Panama, a couple others. He's been to Ethiopia a few times as well, and Indonesia."

Castle nudges her shoulder, and by the expression on his face when she looks up at him, she knows he's expecting her to follow his train of thought. But she's got nothing.

"You said he was a small businessman?" the writer asks, and Ryan and Esposito both nod. "Does his business have anything to do with coffee?"

Ryan looks up from his notes.

"Yeah, he's a specialty coffee roaster. How'd you know?"

Oh, now she sees where he's going.

"All of those countries are known for their coffee production," she says, feels the intentional brush of Castle's hand across her thigh when he reaches around her for a container of noodles. His little sign of appreciation to her for keeping up with him. "So it's very possible he could have had legitimate business in those countries."

Esposito shakes his head, but gives them a slight grin.

"Leave it to the two of you to know your coffee that well."

Kate rolls her eyes. Just the usual teasing about the strange connection between the writer and the detective. It doesn't seem like they've completely figured out that she and Castle are now more than just work partners and friends. At least, neither Ryan nor Esposito have said anything blatant. Well, more blatant than normal.

"So what do you think?" Ryan asks. "He may not be the guy? But why would Ramirez say it was him otherwise?"

She shrugs.

"I'm not saying it's not him. Just saying it might not be a done deal."

Castle speaks from her other side, his voice rich and velvety smooth. Rich and velvety smooth? In the observation room, discussing a suspect? Really, Kate? Oh, she's got it bad.

"He doesn't look anxious," the writer says. "He doesn't look arrogant either. Just tired, worn out."

All three detectives watch the man for a moment. He sits, elbows on the table, fingers steepled and acting as a brace for his inclined forehead. His eyes are closed, but he's clearly not asleep. Just waiting. Thinking maybe, or praying.

Kate sets down the carton she's been picking at and slaps her hand down on Castle's knee, has to consciously keep herself from squeezing, letting herself linger.

"Let's go see what we can learn," she says as she stands.

She nods to the other two detectives and Ryan holds up his carton of sweet and sour pork in a silent salute.

Castle follows her out of the room, fingers just brushing the small of her back as she turns the knob on the door that leads to Restrepo. Her eyes dart up over her shoulder to meet his at the touch, and he winks.

"Love you," he whispers.

There's no particular reason for him to say it right now. It's just a moment walking into an interrogation, like any other they've experienced together dozens of times. And somehow, that makes it mean all the more.

There's no one in the hallway, and the boys are still safely tucked away with their Chinese food in the observation room, though they'll surely come out soon if they don't see the detective and the writer enter the interrogation room. But she has enough time for what she needs to do.

She turns to face him, letting the back of her hand trail along his abdomen, feels the muscles jump under her touch.

"Love you too."

He smiles softly, and it's everything she can do not to push up on her toes and kiss him. But if she starts now, she might not stop. And the things she wants to do to him would probably be frowned upon were they to happen here in the precinct hallway.

"C'mon, Detective," he murmurs, lifting his hand to wrap around hers for the briefest moment. He clasps her fingers tightly, then drops them back to her side. "Business before pleasure."

She raises one eyebrow.

"It's just a figure of speech," he says.

She purses her lips, studies him.

"It better not be," she says in a low voice, and now his eyebrows rise. "But you're right. Work now, play later."


	27. Chapter 27

"He's dead? First my mother and now Agustin?"

Restrepo bows his head over the table, burying his face in his hands.

"How did you know Mr. Ramirez?" the detective asks, a little more quietly than usual.

The man takes a deep breath and looks up. He's a little paler now, the circles around his eyes a little darker than they were even fifteen minutes ago when they watched him through the two-way glass.

"He was my friend. Since we were boys. We grew up together. We..."

Restrepo trails off and Kate gives him a moment to compose himself. He certainly seems surprised enough that Agustin Ramirez is dead. But he could be lying, could be playing them.

"When did you last see him?" she asks a minute later.

He shrugs.

"A couple weeks ago," he says. "He came to me about six months ago and said he and his family were having a hard time financially. He asked if I had any odd jobs he could work here or there to make some extra money."

"Did you?" Castle asks. "Have any odd jobs for him, I mean?"

Restrepo nods.

"I had him help here and there, delivering coffee to local shops, running various errands."

The writer glances at the detective. He's subtle, but she's become so aware of his movements, so in tune with him that he doesn't even have to speak, raise an eyebrow or anything and she knows what he's thinking.

"Mr. Restrepo, where were you on Friday night, between eight and midnight."

The answer comes immediately.

"Rwanda, in the airport, trying to get a flight home. I'd just found out that my mother had died."

Kate turns just enough that she knows she'll draw the attention of her teammates who watch on the other side of the glass. Sure enough, there's the sound of a chair scraping on the floor, a door closing, and she knows one of them will have headed off to check the man's alibi.

"What were you doing in Rwanda?" Castle asks.

For the first time since they first saw him in the room, Restrepo smiles. It's not dazzling, but it strikes the detective as genuine.

"There's some coffee research going on there. An old arabica strain was rediscovered a few years ago, and I went to visit with the group that has been studying it. They're teaching local farmers how to grow coffee and developing processing co-ops and the like."

His voice is excited. Castle has managed to draw the man out of his tragedy, out of the horror of learning that first his mother and now his friend have died in the past few days.

This is one of his gifts. For a man who makes his living by plunging people into dark worlds of murder and mystery, he has a talent in real life for drawing people into the light.

She lets Restrepo continue with his discourse, noting the Castle seems mildly interested. But when a knock sounds at the door, she excuses herself and opens it to find Esposito on the other side.

"Alibi checks," he says quietly. "He didn't get back until late yesterday."

She nods her thanks to her teammate and shuts the door behind him, heading back to her seat. Castle looks up at her and whatever question he was about to ask the man dies on his lips.

"Mr. Restrepo, did you go home when you got back yesterday?"

The man across the table shakes his head.

"I went to the morgue to identify the body. And then I went to my office. I keep a cot there. I knew the apartment would be too empty without my mother."

Castle glances over at her.

"Did you know that someone had broken into your apartment?" she asks.

It's clear by the look on his face that he had no idea, and a shake of his head confirms it. The seed of a thought begins to form in the detective's mind.

"Mr. Restrepo, did you ever meet Agustin's wife?"

He shakes his head again.

"No. He brought his little girl in with him one day when he was running errands for me. He said his wife had an appointment that day and couldn't watch her."

Castle's hand twitches on his knee, the flicker of movement catching her attention.

"Did he seem happy?" the writer asks.

Restrepo nods.

"Yes, aside from his financial problems, Agustin seemed happier than I had ever seen him, especially with his daughter."

She's not sure where her partner is going with this, has only a vague sense of unease herself. Something's not right, but she can't tell if it's with Restrepo or the situation as a whole. Maybe even with the story Elena told them yesterday.

Castle meets her eyes, and she asks silently if he can think of anything else. The tightening of his mouth tells her he's got nothing. She turns back to Restrepo.

"I think that's all for now, but if you don't mind, please stay in town until we get this sorted out. We may have additional questions for you."

He nods, and stands, reaching across the table to shake each of their hands in turn.

"I hope you find his killer," he says quietly. "He was a good man, and he didn't deserve this.

Kate stands, and Castle follows, the two of them escorting him out, the writer jotting down his contact information while the detective hands the man her card.

"What do you think?" she asks her partner when Restrepo has stepped onto the elevator and they've watched the doors close behind him.

He shrugs.

"My gut tells me he's not the guy," he says. "But this whole case has me kind of turned around."

She nudges him with her elbow and tilts her head toward the break room, starting that direction when he nods.

"I know," she answers. "Nothing is what it seems. I think we'll have to talk to Elena again. Something's not right with her story."

Castle sighs, and she knows he's thinking the same thing she is - that she doesn't want Elena to be the one who's mixed up in all of this, doesn't want Luz to be stuck in the middle.

"The question," the writer says, "is whether she was lying or being told lies herself. Until we figure that out, we don't have anywhere to go."

There are shadows on his face when she looks up at him, and she longs to put the light back, to squeeze his hand until he smiles, hug him until he laughs, kiss him until joy is all that remains in those blue eyes.

But they're still in the middle of the precinct, and quickly approaching their coworkers.

"I had the weirdest dream last night," Ryan is saying as they walk into the room. "You, me, Castle, Beckett, and Gates were trapped in here and forced to fight to the death."

The look on Esposito's face is priceless - confusion, a little awkwardness - as he looks at his partner.

"Here? In the break room?"

The Irish detective shakes his head.

"No, the whole precinct. There were traps everywhere. Flame-throwers hidden in the walls. Poison in the coffee. It was treacherous, dude. And Gates stabbed Castle in the leg, so Beckett was hiding him under her desk and taking care of him."

The Hispanic detective chuckles and continues stirring his coffee.

"Yeah, I just bet she was taking care of him."

There's something in his voice that makes Kate think he knows more than he's been letting on.

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Espo?" she asks imperiously.

The man whirls around to see her standing in the doorway, Castle at her back. She can tell without looking that he's trying not to laugh. Something about the way his breathing changes.

"Just that," Esposito begins, eyes shooting to Ryan, who tries hard to look innocent. "Just that you guys have each other's backs, that's all. Wait, Gates had a sword?"

Ryan nods eagerly and continues to expound upon his apparently very vivid dream.

She glances back to see Castle's eyes twinkling, the corners of his mouth no longer fighting a smile.

"Coffee?" he offers when she's been staring at him a little too long.

She nods gratefully and watches as he steps confidently into the room and begins preparing two cups. This is their thing - coffee - and she has a feeling it always will be.

Whatever she saw in him later that made her fall in love, that was the first weakening in the wall, the way he became more than a nuisance: his provision for her. He became the man with coffee. And sometimes the man with bear claws.

His phone chimes just as he's handing her a mug, and once the hot beverage is safely transferred to warm her cold fingers, he plucks the device from his pocket and swipes his thumb across the screen to unlock it.

A smile breaks across his face, and Kate feels her stomach flip. What is it about seeing him genuinely happy that makes her feel this way? She doesn't have time to fully examine the question before he's crowding around next to her, calling the boys over as well, and holding out his phone in front of the four of them.

"Alexis just sent me a video," he explains, tapping the small screen.

He starts the video message and Kate recognizes his living room where they cuddled up on the couch last night to watch the ball drop.

But now sunlight streams into the room and she hears his daughter's laughter ring out from somewhere not in the shot. A voice, a boy's voice, shushes her and all goes silent.

Nothing seems to be happening, but then a flicker of movement catches her attention. It's one of Minnie's toys, a stuffed mouse, and it seems to have a string tied around the middle. Alexis or Drew must be dragging the thing across the floor.

That's all there is for a moment, just a slight jerk on the string now and then, the mouse sliding inch by inch across the floor.

And then they see little ears poking around the edge of the couch. The eyes come next, bright lanterns in the shadow of the furniture. And slowly, ever so slowly, the rest of the head and the body emerge from their hiding place.

The kitten flattens itself on the floor, eyes trained on the mouse as she moves closer and closer.

Alexis giggles, and Minnie pauses, ears turning like satellite dishes toward the sound. But after a second, her focus shifts back to the mouse.

The tension mounts as the little creature sneaks up on the mouse, silently, eyes gleaming and ears turned back.

When one of the teenagers yanks on the string though, causing a sudden movement, Minnie launches herself from the floor, paws spread wide.

She lands on top of the toy, encircling it with her front legs for a moment and then lifting it and tossing it up into the air.

The toy lands back in her paws, and she rolls onto her back, wraps around the mouse, kicking it with her back paws and gnawing on the fake fur.

A high-pitched growl comes from the little beast, and Drew chuckles from behind the camera.

After a few seconds more of watching Minnie and her prey, the focus turns from the kitten to Alexis. She waves.

"Hey dad," she says with a smile. "Just wanted you to see what you're missing here. See you guys later."

The screen goes blank and he slides the phone back into his pocket. Kate's eyes follow his hand, and when she looks up, all eyes are on her.

"'See you guys later,' huh?" Esposito says, elbowing Ryan in the side as both detectives grin at her. "Something you're not telling us?"

Castle's watching her as well, but when she doesn't say a words, he jumps in.

"Alexis asked if she could watch Minnie today. She's always wanted a pet."

Ryan and Esposito both deflate visibly, and she decides to mess with them a little more.

"Yes, gentlemen," she says with an eye roll thrown in for good measure. "At the end of the day, Castle will help me on with my coat, we'll take the elevator down together, hold hands in the car and then go up and have dinner with his daughter and her boyfriend. We'll play with Minnie, and then Castle and I will probably snuggle on the couch and watch a movie. After that, who knows what will happen? I might not even go home."

The other detectives stand there with slightly dazed looks on their faces, and when she glances at Castle, he bears nearly the same expression, with a little hope mixed in.

"Come on," she says bumping his shoulder with hers. "We've got work to do."

She strides out of the break room and back to her desk, knowing the writer will be right behind her.

"What in the world was that?" he hisses as he drops into his chair. There's entirely too much delight shining in those blue eyes.

"What?" she asks with a shrug. "I just figured the best defense was a good offense."

She turns to look back at the break room. Neither of the other detectives has emerged.

"Besides," she whispers, leaning toward her partner and letting her fingers dance lightly across his knee. "I've always thought honesty was the best policy."


	28. Chapter 28

By three o'clock, they're all out of leads. They've got nothing on James Restrepo and nothing to indicate that Elena Ramirez was lying.

By three thirty, the writer has exhausted his store of crazy theories. He has worked his way through drugs smuggled in coffee, human trafficking, and the idea that the young man who wanted a job from Ramirez got fed up with waiting and shot the man, knowing that would create an opening at the florist.

By three forty-five, Castle's fingers are grazing up her arms as he slides Kate's coat over her shoulders, garnering a long look from Ryan and Esposito, who still haven't seemed to figure out that she was actually being serious earlier when she shared their plans for the evening.

Oh well. If they thought she was just screwing with them or being sarcastic, she isn't going to correct the notion.

"We're going back to visit Elena Ramirez," she calls out, mindful of the new rule put in place after she and Castle got kidnapped before Christmas.

Esposito nods and Ryan waves them off with a promise that they'll call if they hear anything else back from Narcotics. It seems as if Restrepo's business is legitimate, but there's always a chance that something untoward could be going on, and if there is, they need to know.

When they reach the elevator, she steps in first, glancing back at the writer with a smirk. He may have complained before, when they were handcuffed, about her need to be first, but now it seems he doesn't really care. Maybe he's just enjoying the view.

He winks at her when she turns around though, and it throws her off balance a little. When he reaches for her hand, lacing their fingers together, it's all she can do not to giggle. Kate Beckett does not giggle. Especially not because a boy is holding her hand.

Except he's not just a boy, is he? He's a man - the only man, from now on, her brain supplies - and she's in love with him. Maybe that's reason enough to giggle now and then.

For now, she sighs contentedly, and he leans down. Not far, because she is, of course, wearing heels, but enough to emphasize the height difference between them. His nose nudges her dark auburn hair and he presses a kiss just above her ear. Her eyes close of their own accord as she savors the sensation of his lips brushing against her temple, feathering down to her cheek, over to the corner of her mouth.

The elevator slows and he leans away, releasing her hand. It would be sappy to say that she misses his warmth, his touch - but it's true nonetheless.

But then his fingers prod gently at her back as they step through the doors of the elevator and she decides that this might be okay too. He seems to have reached the conclusion that he's allowed to touch her, as long as it's nothing too blatant.

"I don't want it to be her," he says quietly a few minutes later as he buckles his seat belt and she starts the car.

She turns to give a sad smile to her kind, tender-hearted, compassionate partner.

"I know," she says, reaching over to squeeze his hand where it rests on his knee. "I don't either. But somebody is lying, and we have to figure out who it is."

She lets go of his hand to pull out of the spot, watching from the corner of her eye as he runs his fingers through his hair, mussing it. It's cute. He looks like he did when they woke up this morning, disheveled. But then, he'd been happy, content and smiling as she roused him from his sleep with her gentle touch. Now he just looks tired, worn out.

The drive to Astoria is mostly silent. He stares out the window and she forces herself to focus on the road and not on him. She wants to reach out to him, to twine her fingers with his. But his hands rest on his right leg, too far away.

He's still quiet on the walk up the stairs and the ride in the elevator to the correct floor. She bumps his shoulder as the jerky elevator comes to a stop, smiles at him when he looks at her, and feels the flush of pride when he smiles back.

This is partnership. They have each other's backs. They cheer each other up when times are tough. They give each other strength. And she's pretty certain that no matter what comes their way, they can handle it together.

But she's not prepared to find Elena and Luz just on the other side of the metal doors when they open. The woman carries a large satchel and nothing more. The little girl's shoulders bear a pink backpack with a stuffed giraffe tucked inside, the neck hanging out of the bag.

"Mrs. Ramirez," the detective manages to get out despite her surprise. "We were just on our way to visit you."

The woman looks terrified, her eyes bloodshot and wary, her grip white-knuckled on the little girl's hand.

Castle steps out of the elevator, stops right in front of them.

"What's wrong?" he asks before she has a chance to speak. "What happened?"

Her gaze darts over their shoulders, back toward the apartment, and then down to Luz, whose eyes are wide and scared, but foggy still, perhaps with the remnants of a nap.

"A man," she whispers. "A man came and told me we had two hours to leave or he would kill us both."

The writer turns to look at the detective, his eyes concerned.

"Elena," she says quietly, setting a hand on the woman's forearm. "You need to tell us everything."

The woman shifts her stare between them, finally settling on Castle's soft blue eyes. She nods, and leans down to pick up her daughter, holding her close.

The partners follow the pair back to her apartment, Kate pulling out her phone on the way to text Esposito and let him know what's going on. Castle shuts and locks the door behind them and makes his way to the couch to sit next to Kate.

His thigh presses warmly against hers, the muscles firm and strong. He doesn't speak, but he's present at her side, always present when she needs him most.

"Did you know him?" she asks. "Did you know the man that threatened you?"

Elena shakes her head.

"He seemed familiar, but no, I didn't know him."

Luz, who has been still in her mother's arms up to this point, wriggles until Elena releases her and then scrambles across the couch, across the detective, and into Castle's lap.

"Dante," the little girl whispers, curling her tiny fingers into the writer's shirt.

The detective looks around the apartment, sees the disarray that speaks of a hasty departure. But there's no sign of the roly poly puppy that held the girl's attention (as well as Castle's) when they were here the day before.

"He took Dante," Elena says, her eyes on her daughter. "I don't know why."

Kate turns to see the way Castle's hands tighten around the girl's sides, holding her securely on his lap. The little one buries her face in his chest, and the detective's heart constricts painfully at his brokenhearted expression, at the way his eyes dim when confronted with the child's confusion and grief.

"Mrs. Ramirez," the detective says, drawing the woman's attention away from her daughter. "Anything you might be able to tell us would be helpful. When did the man come? What did he look like?"

Elena shrugs her shoulders. It's been less than a day since they saw her and yet she already looks like she's aged several years.

"He came around half past two. He was tall, but not quite as tall as your Mr. Castle. He was thin. He had a short beard and glasses."

Kate glances at her partner and he nods. She slides her phone from her pocket, pulling up the message Ryan had forwarded to her from Narcotics with Restrepo's photo and vital information.

"Is this the man, Elena? The one who threatened you?"

Mrs. Ramirez reaches over to take the phone and studies the picture for a moment.

"No," the woman says. "That's James. Agustin was doing some odd jobs for him, helping him at his coffee roasting business."

Castle's leg jerks against hers and she doesn't have to look at him to know what he's thinking. Restrepo said he'd never met Agustin's wife.

"Elena," Kate says gently, "this is James Restrepo. His birth name is Diego. He changed it when he came to New York."

Surprise etches itself across the woman's face, but she shakes her head, handing the phone back to the detective.

"No, I mean, yes. That might be his name, but it's a fairly common name in Colombia. He's not the man who threatened me. James had been friends with Agustin since they were boys. They grew up in the same village. We'd never met, but I had seen his picture a few times. Agustin even took Luz to work with him once."

The detective leans back against the sofa, bringing one hand up to scrub across her face. Her head hurts.

"The man was older," the woman says, and Kate turns back to her. "In his sixties maybe. And he did sort of look like James, now that I think about it. They could have been related."

Castle leans forward, his elbow brushing her side. She glances at him, observing the way he cradles the little girl's head. Luz is very nearly asleep, no doubt worn out by the past twenty-four hours. She might not yet understand the full concept of death, but Kate is certain that she knows something is very wrong.

And there is something wrong, she thinks. Something crazy and inexplicable is going on here. They have a dead man with a wife and daughter. A suspect (who, despite his name, apparently has nothing to do with the victim's death) whose deceased mother bears a striking resemblance to the woman in front of them. And a menacing man who is probably their killer, might be named Diego Restrepo and who took the little girl's dog.

None of it makes any sense.

Her phone, still clutched in her hand, rings, showing Esposito's name on the screen. She stands, and steps down the hallway to take the call.

"Beckett," she answers.

No one speaks for a moment, but she can hear shuffling in the background.

"Esposito?"

"Hey, you there?"

She nods, despite the fact that he can't see her.

"Yeah, I'm here. Whatcha got?"

"We went to pick up James Restrepo after we got your text," the other detective says. "He'd gone straight home from the precinct. Mrs. Dias confirmed the time and said he hadn't left."

She turns, finding Castle right behind her and startles back. His hand wraps around her bicep and pulls her toward him again. Close, so he can listen in.

"Yeah," she says to Esposito. "I showed Elena his picture and she says it wasn't him. She recognized James as Agustin's friend."

"But get this," the man replies. "We ran into another neighbor in the hall. He said he was just leaving on Saturday morning when an older man came and started pounding on Restrepo's door. Said he looked like an older version of James. Said he'd seen the guy hanging around a few other times in the past couple weeks."

She nudges her shoulder against Castle's chest. This could be the break they've been needing. He nods, eyes dark and serious.

"Did you get a picture from security cameras or anything?"

Esposito chuckles.

"Better. We got the guy himself. He showed up a few minutes ago, probably to see if James had come home."

She leans back, looks at the writer. His mouth is set in a grim line, but his hand curls around her elbow as he glances back into the living room at Elena and Luz, both looking entirely lost on the couch.

"And?" Kate asks, her fingers pressing into Castle's forearm, feeling the pulse of blood through the protruding veins. "Who is he?"

"Beckett," the other detective says. "He's Diego Restrepo. Senior."


	29. Chapter 29

By the time Castle unlocks the door to the loft, it's past nine o'clock. Paperwork took forever, even with the murder weapon and a confession, and they'd stopped for a late dinner of Mediterranean food.

Of course, the two of them spent the whole time they were eating trying to figure out exactly what had happened that led to the death of Agustin Ramirez. Some of the details were still a little fuzzy for Kate, though Castle seems to have a grasp on most of it. If there's a case that makes good use of his writer's brain and its ability to navigate the twists and turns, this has certainly proven to be the one. Her head is still spinning.

"Dad!" Alexis calls out, and Kate looks up to see the girl skidding across the floor on socked feet. "Incoming!"

Sure enough, a gray bolt is headed their way, and the writer barely manages to get the door shut in time to keep the kitten from escaping into the corridor.

Kate drops to her knees, scooping up the little creature and cuddling her tightly. Her bandaged hands still sting from this morning's debacle, but she's happy to see the cat (especially after the anxiety-ridden phone call from Alexis earlier) and somewhat grateful too that all of their secrets are out in the open now. And Minnie, however unknowingly, served as the catalyst for all of it.

"Hey sweet girl," she coos. "Did you have fun with Alexis and Drew?"

The boy in question appears at that moment, hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

"Hi Mr. Castle, Detective."

The writer steps around Kate, brushing his fingers over her arm and Minnie's head before heading over to hug Alexis and shake Drew's hand in greeting.

"You two have dinner already?" he asks, one arm still around his daughter's shoulders.

The girl nods, gesturing toward the living room.

"I ordered pizza. There's still some left if you and Kate are hungry. We were just watching a movie."

Castle leans down to press a kiss to her hair.

"Thanks, sweetheart. We stopped for food on the way home. How was Minnie?"

The detective stands, making her way over to the trio, and hands off the kitten when Castle reaches for her.

"She didn't give you any problems, did she?" Kate asks.

Alexis shakes her head and Drew laughs.

"We had a great time with her, Detective," he answers. "She's got quite the personality. Very feisty."

Castle throws a wink in her direction, and Kate already knows she probably won't like whatever comes next.

"Like mother, like daughter?"

The detective swats him on the arm as both teens grin.

Alexis tilts her head and the writer nods, leading them back to the living room. Somehow, they end up in much the same position as the evening before - Kate, Castle, and Alexis on the couch with Drew on the floor, leaning back next to his girlfriend's legs.

"Did you solve the case?" the redhead asks, turning to look at her father and the detective.

Kate nods.

"You could say that. We've got the killer. Personally, I'm still trying to figure out the case."

The way the girl's eyebrows quirk is so much like her father and the detective feels a rush of affection for the young woman. Whatever mistakes he may have made (and she's realized that he's made far fewer than she might have previously thought), he is an excellent father.

Yes, his rules may be lax. He may be more laid back about bed times and studying and other traditional disciplines than her parents ever were. But he loves his daughter fiercely and would do anything to protect her, to help her. And the girl knows it.

Castle turns to look at the detective, and she gives him a soft smile along with a gentle nudge of her elbow.

"I think you'd better explain this one, partner. It's quite a story and needs someone who can do it justice."

His eyes light up at her words and the hand that isn't cradling the kitten lands on her knee, squeezing lightly. She glances over at Alexis, and the redhead gives her a subtle nod before her father turns around again.

"Well," the writer starts, shifting into the smooth, hypnotic tone he uses to spin tales at the precinct. "It all started in Colombia nearly forty years ago."

Kate leans back against the couch and closes her eyes, drawn in by his voice.

"A woman named Claudia de la Rosa fell in love with a handsome young revolutionary named Diego Restrepo. They married and had a son, named after his father. They were happy, for awhile."

Pinpricks on her thigh alert the detective to the fact that Minnie has forsaken Castle for her owner, and she unfolds her arms, giving the creature a clear path up her torso to curl in the crook of her neck, shrouded in dark curls. The kitten purrs in her ear as the writer continues his story.

"Eventually though, Diego began drinking. And when he drank, his idealism turned to bitterness and he began taking out his anger on his wife and young son. So one night, they ran away."

Though she heard all the same facts as he did, Castle somehow has managed to piece them together into coherency. He's found the plotline, the character arc. She wonders if this is how he writes his books too - he knows who the killer is and just has to find the story.

"Claudia and her son found a home in a village a long way from Diego. They made friends. Her son was smart and kind and he looked out for the younger children, including a young boy named Agustin Ramirez. But after a few years, Diego found them. And so they ran away again. This time to New York."

Kate opens her eyes to find both Drew and Alexis listening with rapt attention. She leans into his side, and he pauses for a moment, his eyes flicking over to meet hers, the gleam of his storytelling mode replaced by a raw need wrapped up in tenderness. He stares at her until Alexis clears her throat, breaking the moment.

"What happened after that?"

Castle gives her a long slow blink that sends tingles up her spine and then he turns back to his daughter and her boyfriend.

"They made a life for themselves here. Claudia found a job at a department store and her son, who was going by James or Jamie now, finished school, double majored in horticulture and business management. He became a specialty coffee roaster."

Drew cocks his head.

"Sounds like all of that should lead to a happy ending."

The boy isn't afraid of speaking up, and that makes Kate like him all the more. He may be quiet, but he's got guts.

"You'd think so, right?" the author says. "But a few months ago Agustin Ramirez, our victim, came to James Restrepo and asked for help. He and his wife were having some financial problems after they adopted their little girl. James had come into Agustin's flower shop one day to buy a bouquet for his mother's birthday and the two men reconnected after twenty-plus years."

This is where the story gets particularly interesting, and Kate sits up, dislodging Minnie and earning a nip to her earlobe. She jolts at the pain, and the other three turn as one to look at her. The kitten stands on her shoulder, back arched, and then jumps to the back of the couch, casting a disgruntled look back at the detective. Castle laughs, but lifts his hand, turning her face with his fingers and prodding carefully at her ear.

"No blood," he whispers, his voice husky. "But if it hurts, I could kiss it and make it better. If you'd like, I mean."

Oh, she would definitely like. But if he starts with her earlobe, there's no telling where things might up, and two impressionable teenagers are watching closely.

"Think I'll be okay," she says, but appeases him by bumping her smooth cheek against his rough one. "On with the story."

He leans away, and smiles. His hand still rests on her leg, and as he begins speaking again, his fingers begin to knead her muscles, working out the day's stress and adding a whole new kind of tension.

"Unfortunately, James wasn't the only one Agustin asked for help. When his parents died, just a few years after Claudia and James had left the country, Agustin had joined the guerilla forces, and Diego Restrepo had been his commanding officer until the young man fell and injured himself one night and became separated from his squad. He fell in love with the girl who took care of him, married her, and they too moved to New York to make a new life for themselves. They adopted a little girl and named her Luz."

The detective's heart clenches as she remembers the tiny child who had latched onto her partner and the undisguised longing in his eyes as he held the little girl. He'd told her before, when he first started shadowing her, how much he'd loved playing with Alexis when she was that age. And she could tell by his expression just how much he'd probably like to do it all over again.

"Much like with James," Castle is saying now, and she pulls her imagination back from imaginary children to focus on the story he's telling, "Agustin ran into Diego one day when he was making a delivery. With every month that passed, he told Diego, he and his wife fell a little deeper into the hole. So Diego offered him a deal. If he would use his job as a way to run drugs, Diego would make sure his family's debts were covered."

The old man had told them the whole crazy thing during the interrogation, the writer teasing out details, the pieces that made it all make sense. Kate may have had the facts - the man still had the murder weapon in his possession and Elena had positively identified him as the one who threatened her - but it was Castle who got the story, the whys and hows.

She zones out as Castle begins to wrap things up. When Agustin had pushed back, saying that he wouldn't be part of an operation that sold drugs to kids, Diego had threatened him. He'd followed Agustin to make sure he wasn't going to the police. And one day when the florist went to help James at the shop, Diego had recognized his grown up son - the similarities between them were unmistakable.

And that was when all hell broke loose. He began following James as well, tracking him to their apartment. He'd gone there one day and found Claudia alone. Only the sound of the elevator when Mrs. Dias had arrived home had scared him away.

Years of addiction had addled the old man's mind, and he was convinced that Agustin had been concealing his long-lost family. So he shot the younger man and then broke into James and Claudia's apartment, only to find the place empty. His estranged wife had died the day before.

"The one thing we couldn't figure out," Castle says, bumping his shoulder against the detective and bringing her back to the present, "is why he took Dante."

Ah, yes. They'd finally chalked it up to pure crazy - a man driven mad by anger and his various addictions.

"Dante?" Alexis asks. "Who's Dante?"

The writer chuckles, turning to his partner and grinning.

"Dante is a puppy, belonging to Agustin's daughter, Luz. Both the puppy and the kid were quite taken with your father."

The girl pats Castle on the knee.

"Yeah," she says, glancing at Kate with a sympathetic smile. "Kids and dogs tend to like him. I haven't really figured out exactly why."

He reaches over and flicks his daughter in the arm.

"It's because they are excellent judges of character," he protests. "They see me as a friend and someone who can be trusted."

Kate winks at the girl, and Drew chuckles.

"More likely," she says thoughtfully, "it's that you play like one of them. You're not afraid to get down and dirty."

As soon as Castle looks at her, she regrets the words. She's left him an easy opening, and if he's going to make inappropriate jokes, she likes to at least make him work for them. But he curls both lips between his teeth and shakes his head.

"Too easy," he says softly, eyes twinkling as he turns back to his daughter who watches him with some kind of mild reproach on her young face.

"Anyway," the detective says, before things get more awkward with the two teenagers in the room. "Dante was unharmed and your father had the privilege of reuniting a girl and her dog."

Luz had squealed right there in the interview room when Castle strode in holding the dog, and before long the man had his arms full of both squirming puppy and squirming child. Kate's pretty sure he got a few kisses from each - it was fairly adorable, especially the grin on her partner's face and the gentleness in his eyes as held the two of them close to his chest.

"So," the writer says. "There you have it. Another case solved. Oh, and did I mention that Elena and James are cousins? Their mothers were sisters."

Really, she's glad to see the end of this one. Too many twists and turns. If Diego Restrepo hadn't shown up when he did, she's not sure they ever would have figured it out. But at the very least, they'd managed to sort of bring a family together, even if it was family that had never met. In some ways, at least, this is a happier ending than most of their cases have.

Drew groans and gets to his feet, leaning over to kiss Alexis on the cheek and pet Minnie where she's sleeping on the back of the couch behind the girl's head.

"I should be going home," the boy says. "Congratulations on solving your case, Detective Beckett, Mr. Castle. It's nice to see you again."

Alexis snags his hand and lets him pull her upright.

"I'll call the car service again, if that's okay?"

Castle nods his permission, and waves at the kids as they walk hand in hand toward the front door. Drew shuts the door behind them.

"And then there were two," he murmurs, leaning into the cushions of the couch and turning to face the detective.

She sets her hand over his on her knee and he flips his palm, lacing their fingers together.

"I'm tired," he says softly. "How about you?"

She nods, and leans toward him, settling her head on his shoulder.

"Time for bed, I think."

His hand tightens around hers, and when she looks up, there's a question in his expression.

"Are you staying?"

She shrugs, letting a hint of a smile play at her lips.

"Told the boys I would, didn't I? Did you think I was joking?"

Desire flares in his blue eyes, and she's seen it before, but there's something about sitting on his couch, the loft empty now that Alexis has walked down to the lobby with her boyfriend. Her stomach flips, heat igniting in her belly.

"I just figured we didn't have dinner with my daughter and her boyfriend, nor did we play with Minnie or watch a movie," he says, a teasing note in his voice. "So I wasn't sure the rest would happen."

She pokes him in the side, then trails her fingers down to trace nonsensical patterns on his leg.

"But you helped me on with my coat, Castle. And we rode the elevator down together, and held hands in the car. And we *have* been snuggling on the couch now for half an hour."

He nods, his breathing heavier than it was a few minutes ago. His eyes follow the movement of her hands.

"You make an excellent point, Detective," he rasps. When she stops the spirals of her fingers and simply squeezes his thigh - firmly - he sucks in a breath and shoots to his feet.

"Where are you going?" she asks, a tease in every syllable. "Don't you like sitting here on the couch with me?"

He laughs, the sound dark and dangerous and absolutely delicious to her ears.

"I love sitting there on the couch with you," he confides. "But I have to admit I'd rather do other things with you. In other locations."

She takes the hand he extends to her, lets him pull her up until they stand toe to toe, bodies flush, her chin brushing the tense muscle of his shoulder. She presses herself still closer, until every thump of his heart resonates within her own chest.

"By all means then," she whispers, tongue darting out to caress the shell of his ear. "Lead the way."


	30. Chapter 30

Silently, he leads her through the office, past the dimmed storyboard that haunted them this morning. It's been a very long day.

She pauses at the threshold of his bedroom, takes a deep breath. He turns around, her hand still encased in one of his.

"Kate," he says softly, coming to stand directly in her path. "You know there's absolutely no-"

"Pressure," she finishes for him. "I know. I want this. I want you."

Joy blends with desire in his eyes, and his free hand rises to curl around her elbow. His dips his head.

And kisses her.

Slow. Deep. Searching for her and letting himself be found.

She dislodges his hand from her elbow when she slides her fingers up his chest, lingering at his clavicle. Her fingers trace the bones, press lightly against the muscles, testing their strength. Her thumb strokes at the hollow underneath his collar, feeling the vibration of his vocal cords as he hums in response.

His palm finds a home on her side, warm and sure, gliding over her obliques to curve around her lower back, rising to cover her jutting shoulder blade.

So this is what it feels like to be loved by Richard Castle. He surrounds her, but there's no claustrophobia in his embrace, no sense of being closed in, trapped. She knows that if she asked him to stop, to step away, he would. But she won't.

She clutches his hand more tightly, and then lets go, fingers skimming up his arm to his shoulder, around to the top of his spine to tickle soft skin at the base of his neck. He shivers, and she pulls away from his mouth, smiling.

"Cold?" she asks teasingly, watching him through long lashes.

He shakes his head, raising his now free hand to tuck an errant lock behind her ear, calloused fingertips scraping gently against her cheek.

"What about you?" he returns playfully. "Are you cold?"

She gazes up at him, at those blue eyes that have invaded her dreams for months - sometimes laughing, sometimes wanting, sometimes pleading for her to stay with him. But now they're looking at her like she's a new creation, something he's never seen. And maybe he hasn't. Not fully.

"Freezing," she tells him, teeth sinking into her bottom lip to keep from smiling. "Warm me up?"

His rich laughter fills whatever small space remains between them, his breath hot against her mouth.

"As you wish."

Before he can kiss her, though, she leans back, still in the circle of his arms, but far enough to see him properly.

"Really, Castle?" she drawls. "That especially cheesy movies line? That's your strategy?"

His eyes twinkle, perhaps the result of her reproach, perhaps because simply because she recognized the line.

"Would you prefer a different line? Maybe 'Love is what bwings us togetha today' or something like that?"

She should laugh, should tease him about his extensive knowledge of that movie, listen to him defend its merits and cult status. But that word - _love_ - it still catches her by surprise, still sends tremors through her chest.

She's known, for months, that he loves her. Has seen in the way he looks at her, felt it in the way their fingers brush when he hands her a cup of coffee, heard it every time he says her name. And of course, he'd spoken the words too. Not just in the cemetery but this morning as well. And again this afternoon. And in the elevator on their way up to the loft this evening.

He's stopped his joking for now, must have seen the seriousness on her face.

"What is it?" he whispers, and she shakes her head, pulls herself out of her thoughts, back into the present with this man.

"I love you," she murmurs. "That's all. I love you."

His eyes soften and crinkle at the edges. He tilts his head toward her, and she rises on tiptoes to meet him, nudging his cheek with her nose, bumping his mouth with her smile.

"I love you," she repeats, and then his fingers are tangled in her hair, holding her close.

His eyes slide shut as his mouth collides with hers in a languid kiss that leaves her breathless.

"Oh Kate," he pants when he pulls away. "I love you. I love you so much."

She tucks her face into the crook of his neck, overwhelmed. Overwhelmed, but happy. At peace.

He cradles her body securely, one large hand spanning her lower back, the other at her neck, kneading the tight muscles there as she slowly melts under his touch. A low hum reverberates in his chest, flowing into her, the same tune she heard when she found him in the kitchen this morning, cooking breakfast. She still can't place it, but knows she's heard it before.

"Dad?"

The voice of his daughter surprises her, and she startles in his arms. He chuckles, turning his face to press his lips against her temple.

"Be right back," he whispers, and she nods against his neck before he untangles himself from her, turning her with his hands as he steps past her through the still open doorway to his bedroom.

She looks up, and finds Alexis leaning against the shelving that separates the office from the rest of the apartment. The girl is smiling timidly, a slight flush on her cheeks.

"Hey sweetheart," the writer greets his daughter. "Heading to bed?"

The young redhead nods, pushing off from the shelves and into her father's sturdy embrace. She hugs him tightly, then pulls away, small hands resting on his sides while his brace her back, holding her in place.

"Just wanted to say goodnight, and the door was still open, so..."

She trails off, and her eyes flick from Castle's face to the detective.

He reels the girl in, kisses her forehead, and Kate watches as the young woman's eyes close, lips curving upward in a content smile.

"Sleep well, pumpkin," he says, his voice low and tender.

The detective knows she could feel like an intruder in this moment, but she doesn't. They're sharing with her, openly, letting her into their lives and their hearts. And she's grateful, so grateful just to be here and bear witness to the love of this family.

The girl pushes herself up, and wraps her arms around Castle's neck as he bends down to reach her.

"You too, Dad," she says, and then giggles as he tightens his grip on her, lifts her off her feet.

He groans something about how his back hurts and he's getting too old for this, and sets her back on the floor, releasing his daughter with a squeeze of her side.

"Goodnight, Kate," she calls, throwing a smile over her shoulder as she heads out of the room and shuts the door.

The detective responds in kind, a 'sweet dreams' leaving her lips before she looks back at Castle to find him smiling - no, beaming - at her.

"Getting too old?" she teases as he stalks back toward his bedroom. "Sure you're up to this? Wouldn't want to injure your back."

Oh, she should know better by now than to taunt him, but she just can't resist. And when he crowds her into his bedroom, turns her and presses her against the door until it snicks closed - well, she's not going to complain about the results of said teasing. If he feels the need to give her concrete evidence of his youth, she's not going to stop him.

"Not too old for this," he growls. "Never too old for this."

Every line of his body meets hers, his hands bracketing her hips, and his bedroom door is cool at her back.

"Yeah?" she breathes in his ear, teeth nipping at the lobe. "Prove it."

His fingers flex against her, thumbs delving under the hem of her shirt to feather across smooth skin.

She feels the muscles of her stomach contract, and he repeats the motion, draws the same reaction and a husky moan.

"Castle..."

He covers his mouth with hers, warm and soft and so demanding, enticing sounds from her throat that she's never given to any man. He presses into her, forcing her shoulders to flatten and her arms to curve yet further around his neck.

She uses what little leverage she possesses at the moment to get one foot up and shove away from the door. He stumbles back, and for just a second, she fears they'll go crashing to the floor. But he catches himself, regains his balance, and tugs her toward the bed without ever letting go - with his hands or his mouth.

His knees hit the edge of the bed, and he drops down unexpectedly, pulling her with him. She lands in a heap on top of him, narrowly avoiding smashing their noses together. She lays her head on his chest and allows herself to catch her breath. He sighs.

"We'll get better at this, won't we?" he asks, and she doesn't have to look up at him to know he's smiling.

But she props her chin on one hand, lifts her eyes to meet his. He's tilted up so he can see her, head pillowed on one bent arm.

"We probably will," she says, bringing her other hand up to brush the hair away from his forehead, to smooth the slight furrow in his brow. "Practice makes perfect, you know."

His smile widens.

"And we'll be doing a lot of practicing, will we?"

She nods, lowering her eyes, tracing circles on his chest.

"We will," she promises. "But awkward is good, Castle. Awkward is real. And I want real."

He pushes himself up on one elbow to kiss her softly.

"Me too."

She gives him a moment, pours her heart into the kiss, and then pulls away, rolling to the side and sitting up.

"Where are you going?" he asks, and when she looks at him, there's a clear pout in his expression.

She lift her hand, pulls one corner of his mouth back into a lopsided smile.

"I'll be right back, you big baby. I just want to brush my teeth."

He shakes his head.

"Your breath is fine," he implores. "You don't need to brush your teeth."

She laughs.

"Thanks. But you've been plying me with coffee all day, and I also need to go to the bathroom."

He blushes. She loves that, loves that she can embarrass him sometimes without trying. So she leans in and presses her lips swiftly to his before she stands and saunters across the room, turning back to wink at him as she closes the door.

She takes care of her needs quickly, washes her hands, and brushes her teeth. She hesitates for a moment, then opens the overnight bag that still sits on the counter, cleaning the makeup from her face and then changing into her pajamas from the night before.

When she emerges, he's waiting, reclining against the headboard, hands folded over his stomach, the picture of serenity.

"Your turn," she tells him, and he heaves himself off the bed, deliberately brushing against her as he passes.

She makes herself at home until he returns, dimming the lights and folding back the covers that they'd so carefully arranged together this morning.

This is it. This is the moment.

And yet, no. It's not.

Last night, comforting him and relieving him of his guilt, falling asleep in his arms. This morning, telling him that she'd heard his desperate words all those months ago, telling him that she's in love with him. And then, mending their brokenness in front of the makeshift murderboard. Those are the moments that mean everything to her.

This, this is just the next step, the natural progression. It will be wonderful and earth-shaking, she's certain. They've always had an undeniable chemistry. But their chemistry isn't what binds them together.

It's the way he's stood by her, no matter what. It's the way she's believed in him and trusted him to have her back. It's the sum of their shared experiences. And this will be just one more piece of the puzzle.

The door creaks open and there he is, shifting from foot to foot, in maroon boxers and a white t-shirt, light from the bathroom silhouetting him as he stands in the doorway. He looks adorably nervous, and she leans back on the bed, fluffy pillows cushioning her head. One finger crooks to beckon him closer. And he lurches forward, compelled out of his spot toward her.

He stops when he reaches the bed, and she lifts her hand to tug on the bottom of his shirt.

"You coming, or what?"

He grins, and the tension breaks.

"You're giving me all the easy jokes tonight," he says. "I'm a little disappointed."

She smirks up at him.

"Why?" she asks, a hint of tongue poking through her teeth. "Are they beneath you?"

His knee rises to balance on the mattress, pressing down hard as he swings his other leg over until she's well and truly trapped.

"Not the only thing that's beneath me," he rumbles.

Her heart pounds in her chest at the predatory look in his eyes. But all too quickly the glint of danger disappears and he's just his goofy self again.

"Thanks for the setup."

She shrugs, nudging his thigh with her knee.

"What are partners for?"

He braces his hands on either side of her shoulders, angling his head to kiss her soundly on the mouth.

It's everything she could want in a kiss. His lips are warm and supple, pliant and giving, smooth. In delicious contrast, the day old stubble on his cheeks scrapes against her skin, reminding her that he is all man, rugged and strong and fierce in the way he loves her.

She strains upward, tongue diving into his mouth, and he groans. She savors the sound, and he generously returns the favor, coaxing a whimper from her throat.

If he keeps kissing her like this...

A sound to her left jolts her out of the haze of pleasure, and she drops her head back to the pillow, staring up into his hungry face. His eyes are clouded with arousal, his lips swollen from the pressure of her kisses.

"What?" he whispers, and she remembers why she stopped. She heard a noise. A noise that didn't belong here in the bed while they made love.

"What is it?" he asks again. "Kate?"

But she doesn't have to answer, because at that moment, he lets out a frustrated sigh, and then chuckles. She follows his gaze over to the hand that presses into the mattress in the middle of the bed, bearing his weight.

She should have known. Minnie is there, kneading the sheets and nuzzling his fingers. Purring happily. It'd be sweet if not for the timing.

Kate shakes her head.

"No privacy."

Castle nods.

"And terrible timing."

She reaches over to run her hand across the little creature's head, and when Minnie blinks sleepy green eyes at the two of them, she knows this is it for tonight. Practice, right? And if they really do have kids someday, this won't be the last time things come screeching to a halt. That image from this morning of the dark haired children comes rushing back. She turns her gaze back to her partner and knows that he's once again on the same page.

Of course, in order to actually have kids...

He hovers above her, blue eyes that see all, that know her so well, that speak when his lips are silent. Not that they're silent now.

"I think this is where I say 'Next time, without the kitten.'"

She laughs, can't help it, but his mouth over hers muffles the sound. When he pulls back from the kiss, he's smiling.

"I don't have to work tomorrow," she whispers, lifting her hand to run across his cheek, his jaw, down his neck to his cotton-covered chest, and then his stomach until she can just tuck her fingers into the waistband of his shorts. "What do you say we leave Minnie here with Alexis for the day?"

He props himself on one elbow and reaches down to still her questing fingers.

"I don't know, Detective," he says playfully. "What did you have in mind?"

She chuckles, watches as his eyes widen.

"No interruptions."

He gulps, and lifts his head an inch or two, but she abandons his waistband to curl her fingers around the back of his neck, holding him close, not letting him escape.

"And you want to leave Minnie here for the day?" he asks. "All day?"

She hums, and he smiles, mouth pressing quickly to hers until she squeezes his neck so he'll pull back. So she can see his eyes. So he can see hers.

"All day, Castle," she whispers, fingers sliding from his neck to rasp against his scalp. He shudders in her arms.

"Kate..." he murmurs, and nothing more. Just her name.

Breathless, speechless. She loves his voice. Loves his words. But this will work too. Yes... This will work just fine.

"So we should probably get some rest," she says wickedly, lifting up to meet his mouth one more time. "Gonna need our strength."

* * *

><p>Author's note: We've reached the end of the line, my friends. To each of you who have read this story, whether you just started it within the last couple of days or have been with me since December 6th and the first chapter of Fluff: I thank you. Thank you to all who have reviewed and added to favorites and alerts - the emails have been a great source of joy. To Emma, who reviewed first: thanks for recommending and reblogging - thanks for getting the word out. To AC: thanks for inviting me to be part of the club - the words of wisdom and encouragement found therein have been invaluable. To Laura and SexySheep, who both continually left me reviews that essentially urged Castle and Beckett to get it on already: use your imagination. ;)<p>

Again, thank you all for sticking with Minnie and me. It's been a blast.


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